Drum Taps in Dixie Part 2

Calling out the new-born day, Marking each night's gentle sway, Ready whate'er comes.

Calls to duty, calls to play, Calls for rest and calls for fray Rolling, roaring all the day, The Music of the Drums.

Fife and drum have been heard in every camp and upon all of the battlefields of the world. And for a marching column there is nothing like martial music of the good old-fas.h.i.+oned kind, such as inspired the continental heroes at Lexington, Yorktown and Bunker Hill, and rallied the boys of '61, and later led them in all the marches through the South.

Martial music seems to have gone out of fas.h.i.+on in these up-to-date days, and what little there is, is but a poor apology, with the bugle blasts interjected between the rub-a-dub-dubs of the drummers who hardly know their a b c's about snare drumming.

I have heard but one good drum corps since the war, and that was at the G.

A. R. gathering at Buffalo a few years ago. An old time drum corps, who styled themselves the "Continentals" were present. It was composed of veterans over 70 years of age, and, say, they could double discount any other organization present.

Many of the crack bra.s.s bands of the country were there, but they were not in it with the old martial band. Their music--mind the expression, "music"--caught on with all the swell people of the city who thronged the camp waiting for an opportunity to hear them, and the veterans went wild as they heard again the reveille and tattoo and the old familiar strains of "Yankee Doodle," "The Girl I Left Behind Me," "Rory O'More," "The Campbells Are Coming," "Hail to the Chief," and many other reminders of the old days.

TWO AMBITIONS.

Two boys when coming home from the war were talking over what they were going to do. One whom we will call Joe said he was going to have all of the strawberry shortcake he wanted, and then he was going to have mother make some of the good old-fas.h.i.+oned flap-jacks that he liked so well. "I am going to have her make them the full size of the round griddle, and as she bakes them I'm going to spread them with b.u.t.ter and shaved up maple sugar until the pile is a foot high and then I'll sit down and have all the pancakes I want for once. What are you going to do, Bill?"

"Me? I'm going to go to every dance, minstrel show, singing school and revival meeting I can hear of in forty miles, and I'm going home with every pretty girl I get a chance to. And another thing I'm going to do, I'll sit up nights and burn a light until I get an all fired good ready to go to bed. And I'm goin' to hire a fifer and drummer to come and play in front of our house every mornin'."

[Ill.u.s.tration: DRUM CORPS OF THE 2ND NEW YORK HEAVY ARTILLERY.]

"Why, Bill, what in thunder you goin' to do that for? I should think that you'd had enough of fifin' and drummin' for awhile."

"Well," says Bill, "I'm goin' to do it, and I'm goin' to have them play the reveille good and strong for fifteen minutes, and then I'm goin' to shove up the chamber window and throw my bootjack at 'em, and yell: 'To h--l with your reveille.'"

RIVAL DRUM CORPS.

The first two years of the war we were brigaded with a certain Ma.s.sachusetts regiment that was about as fine a body of men as I ever saw together. In fact they looked like a picked lot of soldiers so near of a height were they all.

Their drum corps was a good one, too, but of course the boys of the Second New York thought they were a little better than the Bay State fellows, consequently quite a little rivalry existed between the organizations, and when the regiments were out for a review or brigade drill the stalwart drummers from down East would always try to drown out the lads of the Second Heavy. They were all full grown men while our drum corps was made up of boys all under eighteen years of age. Their music was always of the "When the Springtime Comes, Gentle Annie," and "Chunks of Pudding and Pieces of Pie," style, played in 6-8 time, just suited to the stalwart men in their ranks; while ours was more of the "Rory O'More," "Garry Owen" and "Get-out-of-the-way-Old-Dan-Tucker" sort, which we played 2-4 time, better adapted to the quick-stepping New Yorkers behind us. We had some dandy uniforms, too, and I know we were a trim-looking lot in our close-fitting jackets with plenty of bra.s.s b.u.t.tons and red tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, and "McClellan caps" setting saucily on the side of our heads. Harry Marshall, our drum major, was one of the handsomest young fellows that ever led a drum corps down the line on dress parade; and was as good and pure as handsome. He handled his baton with a skill and grace of manner that would have captivated all the pretty girls of a town if we could have marched through its princ.i.p.al street. And when it came to beating a drum he was what the small boys of today would call a "corker."

Harry was a dandy and no mistake, and when we led the Second Heavy in a review we knew that we were doing it about right.

One day when we were at Arlington the general commanding the brigade ordered the troops out for brigade drill, review, etc. His family and some friends were visiting him and he wished to show the men off to his guests. We went through various brigade evolutions, followed by exhibitions in skirmish drill by detachments from the regiments. The officer who commanded the detachment from the Second New York was Captain Barry, a beau ideal of a soldier, who met his death at Petersburg later in the war. (By the way, I never saw Col. James R. Miller out with old "C"

company but what I was reminded of Capt. Barry, both in his looks and soldierly bearing.)

Capt. Barry had the skirmish business down fine and he took Harry Marshall with his drum, and walked out in front of the general and put his men through the various movements for half an hour or more and his commands were not heard only by our drum major, who tapped them out on his drum.

It captivated the general and his guests and when the squad returned to their place with the regiment the ladies in the general's party clapped their hands and waved their handkerchiefs.

The closing event of the day was the marching in review of the different regiments, and again our boys received a recognition from the reviewing party that must have made the Ma.s.sachusetts men's eyes green with envy.

Our regiment was the last to pa.s.s, and when we came opposite of the general, we wheeled out and played as the men marched by, and then fell in at the rear of the column, and just as we were marching off the field the general's young daughter, a miss in her teens--came cantering towards us, and riding up to Harry handed him a beautiful silk flag about three feet long mounted on a dainty light staff such as is used for the headquarters guidons. Harry waved a graceful acknowledgement with his baton and the blus.h.i.+ng girl rode back to the reviewing party.

m.u.f.fLED DRUMS.

In the fall of 1862, Jimmie, one of the drummer boys of the Second New York, sickened and died. He had been a slender little fellow, and the Bull Run campaign was too much for him. He lingered along for weeks in the hospital and when he realized that he must answer the last roll call he wished the surgeon to send for his comrades of the drum corps. It was his wish that we should stand at parade rest in the aisle between the cots.

From under his pillow he took a little Bible and opening it at the 23d Psalm handed it to Harry Marshall, our drum major, and motioned for him to read the beautiful words. Need I say that there were no dry eyes? And I think from that moment life to most of the boys present had a more serious meaning.

The next Sabbath afternoon with m.u.f.fled drums and slow, measured tread, we escorted his remains to a little knoll 'neath a clump of pines near Arlington. The chaplain said "Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust." A volley was fired over the grave, our drums unm.u.f.fled and back to camp we went, beating a lively quickstep.

"Fold him in his country's stars, Roll the drums and fire the volley!

What to him are all our wars, What but death be mocking folly!"

CHAPTER II.

THE Th.o.r.n.y PATH OF FOREIGN-BORN OFFICERS.

The soldiers who enlisted early had some fun that the boys missed who went out after things were in good shape and the officers had learned the tactics so they did not have to stop in giving an order until they consulted a drill-book. It took some little time, however, for the young volunteer of '61 to understand that if he was "just as good as them fellers with the shoulder straps," that the first word in military tactics was "obey."

I heard of a lieutenant drilling a squad of recruits who had been neighbors and schoolmates. He put them through with various exercises, such as "right and left face," "right about face," "right dress," "mark time," etc., and after a while the boys got tired of doing the same things over and over. Finally one spoke up to the officer as follows: "I say, Tom, let's quit this darn foolin' and go over to the sutler's."

The Second New York Artillery began its career under difficulties. It was cursed with some officers in '61-'62 whose qualifications only fitted them for service with a mule train.

Men with military training and experience were not plentiful when the war began. Any foreigner with the least bit of military knowledge and who had a fierce looking moustache could easily obtain a commission.

Our first commander was a Colonel Burtnett, who was commonly called "three fingered Jack" by the boys. His command was of brief duration. It was understood that he resigned by request. When he was taking his departure somebody proposed "three groans for our late lieutenant colonel" and they were given with a will.

ONE OF KOSSUTH'S OFFICERS.

Early in the spring of 1862 Col. Gustav von Wagner came to our regiment.

He was a Hungarian refugee and had seen service with Kossuth. He claimed to have been chief of artillery under Grant at Fort Donelson, and the Second New York regretted that Grant did not keep him.

The colonel awoke one morning and the first thing his eyes looked upon was a mule dressed in uniform standing demurely in his tent. It was said that he swore in several languages but he never found out who perpetrated the huge joke on him.

The officers of our fort arranged to have a little party one evening, the princ.i.p.al in the arrangements being Lieut. Stewart. The colonel had taken a dislike to Stewart in some way and when he learned what was going on he detailed the lieutenant to command the headquarters guard that night. The colonel occupied a fine house that had been used by Gen. McClellan for his headquarters before he left with his army, and Stewart got even with the colonel by firing off a gun after the party was in full blast. This caused a fright among the pickets who commenced firing, which caused a general alarm that resulted in the breaking up of the party and the regiment had to stand by the guns in the forts all night.

The colonel took the regiment on a long march one day in the direction of Fairfax court house. We skirmished through swamps and waded in streams nearly waist deep. The colonel issued orders that there must not be any "shying" at a mud puddle or creek, every man must go straight through them.

One of our captains was quite a fleshy man and as the weather was very hot the march was hard on him. He was greatly beloved by his men, however, and when we came to the first deep creek two of his soldiers carried him across dry. The colonel rode along just in time to witness the act and he ordered the men to carry the officer back and then the captain was told to wade through.

OLD "QUICKER NOR THAT."

The most unique character of all was Maj. Roach or old "Quicker-nor-that"

as he became known. Maj. Roach was a Scotchman and had seen service in the British army and when he was drilling the regiment and wanted them to close up would yell out, "Quicker-nor-that, there." "Mind your distance; 18 inches," and soon the boys got to calling him "Maj. Quicker-nor-that."

A witty Irishman by the name of Mike Lanehan composed some verses, the chorus of which ended with:

"Eighteen inches from belly to back, Quicker nor that, quicker nor that."

The boys learned the words and used to sing them at night for Roach's benefit, which made him furious.

One day when Roach was drilling the men in one of the forts he got hurt on a heavy gun carriage. The major's tent was just outside the fort and a short cut was made for his benefit by running a plank from the top of the parapet across the ditch, and the injured officer was carried across the plank by two of the men.