Soldiers' record, 1870-06-18

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OJ^U FLAO, ONE LAWD, 0¥.E HEART, OA^E EA¥D, 01^E NATION, EVERMORB!
V O L . I I. H A I I T F O R D , C O N K . , S A T U R D A Y , J U N E 1 8 , 1 8 7 0. NO. 50.
I j o u v s a t D o m e .
T H E D Y I N G S O L D I E R.
11Y COL. C. K. L. HOLMKS.
Go bring the bugle, comrade, which so oft
Hiis clu'-ero-cl for us thti twilight hour ;
Breallie througii its keys souio low sweet straiu,
Metliiiiks 'twould soothe this throbbing pul.se, to
hear
The music of its silvery voice again,
One stirring blast niy comrades, one,
To celebrate our victory.
Then tune its breathings to a minor key.
Give me sad music, comrade, for to-night,
The stars which o'er my northern home,
Like the pure eyes of angels, look
With loving ghvnces, in the eye of one
Scarely less pnre; whose drooping lids are moist
With love's sweet dew, as she looks up
To bless them ; that upon nyj too.
Thin glances fall in holy tenderness—
Give me sad music, conn-ade, for to-night,
If stirs can weep, they'll weep ior her.
Who with sw.eet love, and holy trust.
Is breathing her good night, to them and me.
How oft I've h(!ard it, on my lonely beat.
Come down like nuisie, from the spheres ;
Good night sweet stars—good night dear love—
Bweet stars keep faithful wiitch o'er him in sleep.
Steal gently tlirough the curtains of his eyes ;
And show liim what I show to you ;
Only to you for him, pure stars.
Show hiin the chamber, where three years ago.
He brought his bride, and where some two years
since.
The angels brought a lovely ilower,
And left it where you see it now ;
Its beauteous face, pressing love's swelling lbunts.
To sweet deformit . Seeking love's life.
Where now it seeks, and gives, love's rest.
And show him this white arm, thrown out
Across the vacant pillow ; where each night,
It lies till rosy morn, caressingly ;
Seeking to lure him in some dream.
To seek sweet rest, in love's embrace.
Speed—speed—sweet messengers—sleep—sleep—
dear love.
Had taken freedom's martyr Hero home,
( And wo made one more soldier's grave,
I And with sad music buried him,
I And Wrts he dead f Men said so, but I wrote
I This epitaph upon the slab we raised
I To mark his grave—
i "He never dies,
' Who, when the battle's won, lays down
His armor, and takes furlough of His God."
American.
2>IPFINa A MUTINY.
FROM TflE DIARY OF A NAVAL OFFICER.
Our gunboat lay in tlie Mississippi, at-tached
to Porter's flotilla, and I was act-ing
us Obict" Engineer. Our captain was
a volunteer officer, an excellent sailor,
and a brave man ; and if he had alanlt,
it was that of over-indulgence to his crew.
Said crew was a motley collection, made
jnp almost entirely of river men.—flat
boatmen, raftsmen, landing-porters, and
longshoremen of all kinds,— and tooma-
I ny of them were of a disposition to Uike
1 aavantago of kindness. They had no
conception of duly save thai which was
forced upon them ; and rhey had evident-ly
shipped with the impression that they
would have but litlle work, and little
danger.
We were on the eve of stirring events.
Word had come to us that we were to run
the batteries ofVicksburg : and we knew
there was warm work in store for ns at
Grrnnd Gulf. One morning upon going
to the fire-room, I found that two of the
stokers, who should have been on duty,
were absent; and upon inquiry I found
thai they had refused to do any more
work. I called them to me and asked
them what they meant. One of them—
t S ' iH-ruvorod feUow wl,o Imd shipped at
Ouee more sweet stars, once more dear love, good
night.
Give rnc sad music, comrade—for when next,
She freights the pale stars with her love ;
They'll bear it back, all unrevealed,
Not that they'll lind me waking—I shall sleep.
Sleep calmly, by the side of those who fell
Like heroes, where the iron hail
Sent freedom's heroes up in cowds,
To bivouac on the heaveidy plains.
Tlirough the long midnight of tinit dreandess sleep.
Love's messengers shall 'nevermore
Steal through the curtains of those eyes.
Sweet visions of my Bride and IJoy, farewell.
Give ine sad music, comrade, for 'tis sad.
This laying down of my short life.
So far from all that unikcs life dear,
And cheers the sadness of it.s closing hour.
iN'ot that 1 put my hand upon ihc plough,
And looking itiick regretfully.
Begrudge my country the full price,
The holy price we pay for liberty.
Jsfty, l\ear me, God ! while by deatli's wound I swear,
That were the price an hundred lives.
Torn one by one from this quick heart,
I'd pay it all, and die exultingly,
And glad—but lor her sake and my sweet child.
Hark, comrade! Listen! what sweettones—
Oh God IS n.ercilui to sexd—
Hark I once again—
Nay, comrade, nay; go on,
Coinj)k"ite the mournful cadence of the tune—
The notes I heard upon tJie bree/e,
Were but the startled mocking birds ;
Oh rightly )iamed—oh eruol mockery—
To cheat a dying nnin, with counterfeit
Of what he'd give, all save his soul.
To hear, and I'eel, and know once more.
I thought she said ; sleep love—and laid her hand.
So soothii>gly, u\>ou this throbbing brow ;
So had e'en death been sweet—but oh !
My God ! this is death, to die so ;
Life's nickering taper, casting on my brain
Such shadowy plnuitoms of delusive hope.
You're silent, conirade—lias the tune,
Kun through each mournful harmony.
And passed before me, to the silent shore ;
Then I've liveil long—1 thought its closing notes'?
Should bo my reciuiein—hut 'tis w e l l -
Come eloserj comrade—clasp my hand,
My shortening breath, cau hardly span
The little distance from my face to yours ;
A little closer, comrade—So.
Comrade, you have been true to me,
Faithful and kind, as my own mother's son ;
And when through all my pulses ran,
The hot Sirocco, of the fever's breath ;
You nursed nie, comrade, with such tender care
As mothers give to their lirst born,
And now, at this sad closing hour,
1 had died comfortless—alone in pain.
But for thy loving watch, and holy care.
I'm going, comradc—quick—take this last kiss,
Ami leave it on iiKU widowed lips ;
And she will press it on the child's.
And bless thee,—Listen ! 'tis no bird—
Now 1 die hai)i)y, for I hear once more.
Her sweet good night upon the breeze.
Good night, sweet stars—good night, dear love,
Sweet stars, keep fai—
'Twas over, freedom's God
New Orleans—answered me that, his time
was out, and that ho wanted his discharge.
I informed him that, according to the
rules of war, he must continue to do his
duty until his discharge was received. He
laughed at me, and said he would like to
see me make him work after his time was
out.
j I obsei'ved that quite a number of the
j crew hatl followed my stokers to the door
j of the fire-ro )m, and from the glances
j that were exchanged I was satisfied that
I the defection was not confined to my de-
! partment. I was strongly tempted to
! shoot the mutineer on the spot; but I held
my hand, concluded that it would be best
to know the full extent of the evil before
I made a decisive move ; and it was well
thatl did so ; for had I raised my hai>d at
that time there would have been much
blood shed.
I sought the captain and told him what
had transpired.
i "I know it, I know it," he said, ner-j
vously. "Nearly halt the crew have rc-j
fused to do I'urther duty, and demand to
be paid off, and set on shore They have
! not spoken to me, but I expect tliem every
j moment."
j While we were conversing the officer
of the deck came into the cabin and in-formed
the captain that a number of the
cvew had assembled in the gangway, and
demanded to see him. lie arose, and
buckled on his sword, and went out. in
the starboard gang were about forty of
the men, headed by a stout, burly, dark-visaged
fellow, named Bassai'd, Ho, was
a bully and a blackleg. i\s the captain
approached, this man stepped forward,
and said ho had been chosen to speak for
his companions. He wanted it under-stood
that there was no particular leader
in this business ; but that the terms of
enlistment of forty-two of the men had
expired, and they desired to be paid oft'
and set on shore.
Now the facts of the case were these :
The terms for which these men had osten-sibly
enlisted expired on this very day ;
but the captain had known that they
could not be paid oil'and discharged at
pi-eseut, and he had, several days before,
spoken with them on the subject. At that
time they had not apprehended danger,
and had agreed lo remaii> until they were
properly discharged. They had supposed
Una Grant would be left to batter siway
at the land defences of Yicksburg, and
Porter would rest safely in the river un-til
the way was cletir. They had no
thought that the Commodore would ven-ture
beneath the frowning batteries. But
now the prospect was changed. We were
to run the batteries; and thus enter a field
below where there would bM sure ^to be
warm work ; for thej-e was fighting to bo
done when we could get once clear of
Yicksburg These men were cowards.
The captain spoke to them at first very
moderately. He explained to them what
were the rules of war. He told them that
the mere expiration ol a given time could
not absolve an enlisted man from his alle-giance.
Any open opposition to ^consti-tuted
authority before they were veguluv-ly
discharged would be mutiny ; and if
such mutiny could not be quelled, the effi-ciency
of the service would be destroyed.
Then he appealed to their putriotism.
Would they back out and sneaii away
just as an opportunity was offered to face
the enemy ?
The men treated his appeals with scori\
and contempt, and swore that they would
do no more duty. And it was plain to be
seen that they meant what they said. They
were desperate characters, and fully be-lieved
that there was not power enough
on board to overcome them. As I have
said, they constituted nearly half the crew,
and we knew the other half could not be
depended on to resist them with arms.
Finally the captain told them he would
go and seethe (Jommodore, and explain
the matter to him ; and the men went
forward, swearing that they would never
return to duty, let come what would.
When the captain's boat was ready, he
asked me to accompany him, ns the first
demonstration of mutiny had been made
tome. We found the (Jommodore just
sitting down to dinner, and he invited us
to join him, and while the meal was in
progress the captain told his story. Por-ter
listened very attentively and at its
conclusion he said with a smile,—
"All right, captain. I guess there
won't be much trouble. I will come on
board during the afternoon, and see if I
can't straighten things out for you "
After this the Commodore turned the
conversation upon other subjects, and we
had eaten, and smoked our pipes, we re-turned
to our vessel.
And Commodore Porter was not far
behind us. At two o'clock he camoon
board accompanied by twenty marines.
Mis lirst movement was to direct the crew
to be mustered aft ; ajid while this was
being done the marines were drawn upon
the starboard side of the quarter-deck, in
two ranks,—the crow mustering on the
opposite side. When all was quiet the
Ooinmodore advanced from his position
against thetallVail, and addressed our men.
"Look ye, my men," he said, in his ab-rupt
and'authoritative way, "1 am in-formed
that some of you refuse to do duty.
You know very well that you can't be
discharged to-day. The thing is impossi-ble.
And the good of ihe service will
not permit that you refuse to obey your
olficers. As the roll is called, those who
are not willing' to do further duty will
in answer to their names, go forward into
the forecastle. The others will remain
where they are."
The steward^commenced to call the roll
with a pause after each uanie. Two, at
least, of those who appeared at the gang-way,
answered to tlieir names without
moving. At length the name of Louis
JJassard was called, and ho went forward
and when he started, those other two who
had tremblingly hesitated, followed.
When the roll was finished foi ty men hud
done to the forecastle ; and there stood
dogged and determined,—at least so they
tried to appear, though it was evident
some of them wished they were safely out
of the acrupe ; for there was danger to
them in the look of the eagle-ej'ed chief.
Tlie vJommodore caused the marines to
b ' drawn up across the waste, facing for-ward
; and when this was done he ascend-ed
the gangway laddej-, and inrned to-wards
the mutineers.
"Now, my men, I want you to return
to your duty. Those of you who are
willing to do so may lay aft. Marines,—
Attention!—READY !—AIM !"
The mai'inos cocked their rifles, and
brought them to their shoulders, the muz-
'/les covering the close huddled pack upon
the lorecastle. Most of the mutineers
paled and trembled. This was worse
than running the batteries at Vicksburg.
••'Look ye," pursued the (Jommodore,
drawing out his watch, "I will give you
one half of a minute—not one second more!
thirty sccovids I shall fire 1 Now report
for duty, or stay where you are !"
Perhaps five seconds passed, during
which a stillness like the hush of death
reigned upon that deck. The CJommo-dore's
eye was upon thedial of his watch,
and his lips were ready to pronounce the
fatal word. The spirit of insubordina-tion
was growing weak in the presence of
a power that held life and death at will.
A few seconds more and my two stokers
broke from the gang and came aft ; and
they did not come alone. Throuo-h the
gap thus opened others followed-—follow-ed
in continuous line—until the forecastle
was vacapt. Every man had reported
for duty.
Porter put up his watch, and stepped
down.
Captain," he said, as he came down on
the quarter deck, "1 have an order for
you, —audi will assume all responsibili-ty
in the event of its execution. The first
man who refuses to do duty, shoot him on
tho- spot
But our Captrdn had no call for turuiog
US pistol against his own men. They had
discovered what mutiny really meant,
and had no desire to experiment therein
again,—at least while the broad pennant
of David D. Porter was in sight,
OUTTiMi HE D TAPE.
The convenient maimer in which Gen
eral Grant sometimes was accustomed to
cut red tape was quit;e refreshing. On one
occasion the Ninetieth New York regi-ment,
then in a distant field of military
operations, re-enlisted as veteran recruits,
but were not alAe then to take their fur-lough,
on account of a press of business.
While, however. General Grant was on
his visit 10 Maryland, the regiment de-parted
for home on furlough. But there
wore twenty-twoof the men, who, as pun-ishment
for some trivial offence, were not
allowed to go. They were put i\ito other
rogiments, to serve until their regiment
returned, and were still held as veteran
recruits. These twenty-two men, being
at Monocacy, wiiere General (trant was
visiting, concluded to try the heart of
their chief, and one of them waited on lum
in behalf of the party.
A private soldier, grim and travel-stained,
bearing iu every feature the traco
of long service in the field, the Lienten-iint-
Gcncral listened attentively while ho
told his tale and plead for himselfund his
companions, A few questions put and
answereil, and Grant was satisfied that
injustice had been done the war-worn
men, and on the spot he wrote a telegram
to the proper officer, then at Harper's
Ferry, instructing him to furlough tho
men immediately. They left for home at
once, with a consciousncss that the Com-mander-
in Chief was one who could mete
out equal and exact justice to all.
DEATH may remove from us the groat
and good, but tiu) loicu of iheir aclions
still remains. The bow is lirokeu, but
tho ari'ow has sped, antl will thj its otfice.
Tho stick that stirs pt.'0[>le tlie wr^ng
way—the toddy stick.