Soldiers' record, 1869-02-13

              I > e v o t o c l t o t i l e X n t e r e s t s o i t h e S o l d i e i ' s u n c i S a i l o i r i s o f t H e l a t o Wc^i*.
VOIi 1. HARTFORD, CONN., FEBRUARY 13,1869. NO. 3JJ
THE SWOH© A N C FLOtJGH.
Thor^ WR8 once a count—so I'vo4ipard it said-^
Who felt that his end drew near;
And heioallrid hisiso'ns before his!bed.
To part among them his goods, 4nd gear.
He call^dior his plough,,he cf^iledfp,!? his sword,
That gailfltit^gops^ and braw ,
They bfougHt him both at their father's word,
And bis blessing gOTe ;
" My first b6rn son; my pride and might.
Do thou my sword retain;
My cAttld on thii lordly height,
And all my broad domain.
" On thee, my well-lovod younger boy.
My plough I hero bestow ;
A peaceful life shalt tJiou enjoy
In the ijuiet valo below."
Contented sank the sire to rest.
Now all was jgiven awaiy;
The sons held true his high behest,
E'en to their dying day.
"Now tell us what came of the steel of fanie.
Of the castle and its knight ?
And tell us what came of the vale so tame,
And the humble peasant wight 1"
Oh ! ask not of me what the end may bo!
Ask of the country round j
The cattle are, dust, the sword is rust,
The height is.but desert ground.
But the vale spreads in the golden" pride
Of the Autumn sunset glow;
Itteems and it ripens lar and wide.
And the honor abided with the plough !
mxs at iome.
E-OTTNDS.
BY JA^ES .FRANKLIN, PITTS.
"The cavalry of an army," writes some
aaeient observer of military ways and=
means, " are its: eyes and; ears." It is'
difl&Gult to dispute old sayings like this, to
which age has, lent the garments of truth,
and therefore I shall not^ attempt it. But
every soldier knows, and every civilian
may know, that there are times and occa«
sions in the history of an arniy when oth-er
pyes arid other ears are necessary to
its preservation; and it is of these that
these paragraphs will treat.
Far be it from ine to detract from the
services rendered iGiy the light cavalry of
the Grand Army of the Republic in the
late War for the Union; an experience of a
year with this important branch of the
service Qualifies me to; speak intelligently
of its value.! To. an army in campaign,
cavalry is isiinply one of the indispensa-bl'es.
If the corps is advancing, it pio-neers
the way; it prevents ambuscades; it
scours the count^-y for spies and intelli-genceMtis
likfe the Argus of the mitholo-gic
fable, as AVELL as the Briareus—many-eyed
and many-handed, it wards off the
dangeir until it becomes too powerful, to
cope'withj.short ofa battle. If there is
ever a 4'oiibtfal position to feel—a masked
battery t6;test,^a iravine to penetrate
demonidiratiou of any kind to make—the
cavalry ar^ iiistantly in requsition: and
when the ring of their carbines has been
heard for an hour at the front, when the
ambulances are hurrying to the rear, laden
with yeliow-jaGkets, dead, dying and
wounded, and when the living begin to
fall back, sorely .pressed by the weight of
advancirig cdlunms----then will it be time
for infimtry and ?irtillery to prepare for
the strife which threatens. They are gay
and cai'eless fellows, these yellow.jackets,
and beneath their bright vestments; is
something of the audacity of the old Cen-taur.
They ai;e the sailors of the shore:
the same carelessness of danger, frankness
of spirit, and d^ishing personnel pervade
them as do their brethren of the deep:
and I have often ^fancied'that, under a
very slight change of circumstances, each
might fight equally well in the place of the
other. The story of the Great Rebellion
would be tame and spiritless without the
record uf our cavalry, and the chapters
wherein the names and deeds of Sheridan,
of Averill, of Ouotar, and of Kantz, and
their commands, are recorded, are some
of the brightest of all. And therefore
whatever shall bo said witliiri the limits
of this sketch, shall be in recognition, rath-er
tlian in dispar^geriient of the boW riders
ofoui'late war. '
' Thb most important work of the cavalry
is ^er^bi^mQd'tijpon^h^ march. It is like
tljieclofid ahd pillar of 6ld, beckpn-irig
'the ai'niy oii,^^rd jri its p^th of safety,
hb6'dldSS apd c a r e% of toi)i, expos-ure,
danger,' oi' ' But vvhen the
troiops air^ once ehcfeirapdfl, and thMr days
of ka^feM^I ^ i d s^triiiiklnpg bve^'^or tlie
present,' meii' .the' cavalr^i as'^ell' ks' the
other arms, must have Its rest^and ahoth-ei'
'ageh6y mti^t b6 fodnd to wktch 'vigilant-ly
ove^ the sdfety of the listless slumber-ing
cdmps, and prevent attacks and sur-prises.
There is such an agency always
at hand, and easily made available; it is
everywhere known in military circles as
the "Grand Rounds." GRAND ROUNDS!
How does the energy of the soldier arouse
at the na;me! Ho w in fancy does the old
loneliness of picket-duty return to him—
and how do his fingers clutch an imagi-nary
mnsket, and his eyes peer;sharply
out from his peaceful slumbers, as the
stern answer sounds in his dreams,
"GRAND ROUNDS ! " And so we will claim
that it is no fancy picture we are drawing
—no mere pen-painting, but such a reality
as has been seen nightly in all the subdi-visions
of the mighty Army of the Union.
The Field Officer of the Day—permit
us to present him. Assuming his duties
in the morning, he may be seen during
the day-time, (known by the sash which
he wears, scarf-fashion, ovfer his right
shoulder)riding from camp to camp
through the division, compelling the turn-ing
out of guards at his approach, the vig-ilance
of the sentinels, and the cleanliness
of the camps. Hefis, inishort, a kind
military mojdtor, during his twenty-four
hours: a conservator of guard-duty, order
cleanliness. While daylight lasts, he
recognized and respected from his badge
of office: at night, nothing short of the all
potent countersign can command for him
the right of way past the meanest sentinel
of the comimand. Let us accompany him
for a time, and learn his experience.
We are in W.estern Louisiana, on Bayou
Boeuf. The hour is eleven at night, and
the camps are as quiet as so many nursei
ies at the same hour, for the tattoo was
sounded three hours ago, and the rest
less life of this army-corps is hushed ana
quieted in slumber. Standing outside
these long vistas of tents, the spectacle
awes us into thoughtfulness. Here is
bayou, winding its sinuous way from
Lake Palourde, three miles above,, down
to the Atchafalaya below, skirted wit
somber forests, and overhung by the pen
dulous mass which droops from the trees
—a spectral army of tents, stretching £
mile along the banks of this lonely stream
and shut in rearwards by an impenatra
ble cypress-swamp—and over the scene
a stillness broods such as betokens any
thing else than the presence of war and
its concomitants. But outside the nar
row cordon of pickets encircling this
camp we may be sure that a crafty foe is
lurking and watching, and that the dark
ness of the night holds surprises and dis
asters for us, if those pickets shall not do
their duty. We must look to them a lit-tle,
that we may be sure of the safety
us all.
The horse for the field-officer of the day
is at the door, and here is his escort—a
cavalry sergeant and tw o privates. Mount
behind him, reader, if only in your minds
eye, for the small hours of the night are
approaching, and the grand rounds must
be made. Wo must ride slowly till the
camp-lines are cleared, for a sentinel bars
the way, who will only lower his truculent
bayonet for the countersign. Now we
gain the road; it shows hard aud white
in the moonlight, and away at a brisk gal-lop,
the sabers of the cavalrymen rattling
and clanking in time with the hoof-beats.
Whither first ? The outer picket near-est
the enemy lies three miles up the ba-you,
and the officer the dj^y nmst first
satisfy himself that these "eyes and ears"
of the army are up and awake. A mile,is
soon passed: the secpnd must be sbwer.
and more tedious, for the mud lies , deep
and thick, and the heavy growth of foli-age
between us and the bayou entirely ex-cludes
the moonlight.' ^ The horses ^ - sink
:|ey6nd their fetlocks in mud a;s they pick'
tjieii' way dubiously in the d^tk,;
yate th0ir ears suspi^^ d flo^ck of
illipinehed: buzzards i'ises ftom^^ swdrap
near by, wilh heavy flappiji^. of wl^gs ah'd
doleful cries. And so we ride; onv^ard in
he lonely night, trying to our thoughts
on the duty that is before us, while we
ind them wandering off northward to oth-er
scenes.
But our Sergeant is somewhat gar);'u-ous,
and our mission is lonely enough to
justify us in indulging him. He is a per-fect
type of his class of soldier^—a haird-riding,
rough and reckless fellow, ready
to risk his neck on the darkest and storm-iest
night for the fun of a chase, and one
whose creed emWces but three silent
points—horse, saber and carbine. We
will encoui:age him to talk a little.
A poor road. Sergeant, for night
work".
"Just so. Captain; I thought it myself
when the company had to take the full
gallop over It, a week ago to-night"
"You cavalry fellows have the reputa-tion
of letting very little grass grow under
hoof."
"You can judge for yourself, sir, when
tell you that my company rode from Ti
gerville: to this bayou, (fifteen miles,) and
unsaddled in less than an hour."
"haven't you stretched that story
very little, Sergeant ?"
"Lord bless me, sir, not in the least;
and as for the fatigue of the thing—why,
our suppers were not fairly over the fire,
cooking, before we had orders to return
immediately to Tigerville : and back we
went, tired and hungry, about as fast
as we came."
But hist! We are approaching the
picket, and it is time now for silence, for
you must advance cautiously in the neigh-borhood
of a trained soldier on guard, in
the darkness of such a night as this.
Splash, splash, go the horses' feet through
the mud; we plod slo\^'ly on, peering out
in the darkness to discover soraie sign of
life, and—- ' '
" HALT! Who comes there ?"
We are yet fifty ya^ds from the picket
but the st^rn, sjia^p .cK^U
^inel shows that the blouses arp vigilaut.
! "Grand rounds!" sings put the sergeant
"Halt, Grand Kpunds! Advance, ser
geant, with the countersign."
Our fidus Achates rides slowly forward
and from the obscurity of the night, an
other mounted figure meets him midway
We know full well that there are sharp
eyes watching us from the gloom—that
there are a dozen fingers on the hammers
of carbine locks, and a dozen sabers
loosened in their scabbards; but we havo
all trust and confidence in our Achates
We hear from out the gloom another chal-lenge
; we see a bend of the head
and fancy a whisper. Then there is an
other hail —loud, distinct, and very pleas
ant to us, shivering here in the cold.
"The countersign is correct; advance
rounds." !^hiloh is a little word; but to
night it is the "open sesame" of all these
silent camps and pickets.
We will ride on at the word, and ex
amine the picket. Here they are—a doz
en or more, sturdy cavahymen, stationed
in this dark corner, at the angle of these
two roads—bold, stalwart horsemen, with
something of the air of "free companious,"
albeit they are good Union soldiers. We
must commend them a little, for their
vigilance.
"Glad to find you so active, Corporal
Anything stirring, to-night?"
"Nothing, sir: all quiet yet. There
was a shot half an hour ago over at the
post of the other corps, but I guess there
was npthirlg tpshppt at."
'•Keep a bright, Ippk-out, Corporal.
Good ntght.^' V ' ' '
"G'o(j>d; u%i\t, Captain."
We. a'lfe'&£t^isfied thd^ is safe.
Ther6 thaV d lur^in^^ fpp' outside; ' but ,
'he' cati,'iiy Vef ^tM'' watcihfiiihess ''
of odr • ''
^0 ta " Mteriiit;';
We xMsi'iiMs :plod: back: d^alri 'ihirliUp "
the' m M i ' M ^ h i ^ 'C^ye^ 'dht^hdr' sii^rb':
g i d l o p oVe^ t M d M ' M ^ t h e h ^ d^ti^iest^'
ihterrif^tkii of w^i^rtii:' : ' " '
«Whb coined there ?"
"Grand rounds."
"Halt, grand rounds: turn out the
guard—g'r<4nd roundsl"
We seem to have reached the main post
of the guard of one of the, infantry pamps.
There is a sudden clashing of arms, as
they are seized frqmvthe staek8;by soldiers
suddenly avy,akeued.:from^ fitful , sleep by
the warning of the sentry; the guard fall
into line without a word, save tiie half-whispered
command of the officer; the
sergeant .of the, guard advances towards
us, fpUpw;pd by two privates. Their fig-ures
are ijaiatly outlined in the darkness ; >
but we hear thP; PhallfengP repeated, and'
the repeated answer of our Achates—
"Grand Rpunds."
"Dismpunt, Sergeant—advance with the
cpuntersign!" is the next prder; and a-in
the wprd Shiloh pi'pves Pur pass-key.
e must examine the guard, tp see that
they are al^., under arms, and in: good or-der;
we must ejtchange a word with the
officer, and thien gallpp, dway tp pther
(jamps. Thus t r o u g h night
our duty is prolonged;, and the welcome ;
souud of the reveille will pften find the '
F i e l d t » e r PT t h ^ ' D ^ in saddle^; s ® '
scrutinizing the ' ^ a r d s and pickets with
a jealpus eye. There must be neither
sleep to his eyes nor slumber tp his eye-
Uds the live-lpng m J0[e .lives in si- ,
leht mystery of its pulseless hours while
others sleep. This yigilance is the^ ,
safety, and his active ears gpiust catch its
faintest whispers. '..Even thencry of the =
weary sentinels around the guard-lines-^
•'twelve o'clock, and all's well!" brings
him no relief; he must ^ need watch and
wait till the sun has climbed above the
bbi^izo'n b(ifore his head cdU seek its pil-
' "You^re hPt afraid to stand here to-night,
Fi-edt" •
/ftwag-,pi>(3 dark night in West Virgiu-.
^ j i h ^ a^pd. qi;iestipil of one-of ;Pup
-Qf; ^l^X^
diei;, hiyidly jtw^^utiy yet^-Uut copl^istjijppg,.
and composed as! any older man ; might
hivve been! , ,., ;•:
"Afraid, Gap. 1 not a b i t ; let the Jijhur.
nies try me." His lips curved a little,
and his hands grasped the stocfc of 'hi^
musket defiantly. '
"But remember, my boy, you are near-|^
est the enemy of all the pickets of thij§'
army. You must look alive all night."'/
He nodded and smiled, and I rod^ Pa
to visit other posts on the line. The way
was long and tedious, and it was past mid-night
when I approached the reserve pf tji^f^
picket. There was an unusual excitement
about the place ; brands, hastily snatched
from the tiro were flaming through the
darkness, and the soldiers were movinig
around like an awakened hive. ' '
"What's up ?" I. asked of the sentry.
"There was an alarm a minute ago out-side,"
was the reply. "They say one of
the pickets was shot. I ilon't know."
I galloped up to the reserve Four of
the men had just brought in the body of a
slain comrade on their crossed muskpts,
and more than twenty wore crowding a-t
round. I pushed past them and turned ,
down the blanket from the face of the
slain hero. It was Fred himself, proud
and beautiful in death as in life, w ith the
old defiaai smile PU his lip and a rebel bul-let
straight thrpugh his heart. "HPW
was i t ? " I asked of the Lieutenant.
"1 think they must have tried to take him
prisoner," ho said. "There were four of