The Company Cook and the Soldiers' Rations—Soap in the Soup—A Stag Dance—The Army Sutler—A Whiskey Barrel Tapped at Both Ends—The Long Roll—Breaking up—Tinter Quarters—Good Things from Home—Stripped for the Fight.

N winter quarters kitchens were erected and men were detailed from each company to act as cooks. It was easy enough to find soldiers who would sing out “here!” when the first sergeant inquired if there was a good cook in the ranks. Thoughts of extra food and “every night in bed” sometimes prompted men who had never even fried a slice of pork to step to the front and announce themselves as experts in the culinary art. These pretenders, however, were not permitted to spoil more than one day's rations. As soon as the soldiers had sampled the mystery into which their allowance of food had been transformed by the greenhorn kettle slingers, there was trouble in the camp until a change was made in the cook house.

One day a company I boy found a piece of soap in his soup. The discovery was not made until he had stowed away nearly all the contents of his quart cup. He had felt the lump in the bottom with his spoon, and had congratulated himself on the supposed mistake of the cook in leaving a piece of beef in the broth. He raised it out of the cup and held it up on his spoon to exhibit it to less fortunate comrades, saying:

“Nothing like being on the right side of the cook, boys. How's that for beef?”

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“It's rather light-colored for Government ox—let me see! If it isn't soap I'm a marine.”,

“Soap?”

“Yes, soap!”

“And in my soup! Boys, that cook's time has come. Who'll stand by me till I make him eat this piece of soap?”

“You'll have to go it alone; you're on the right side of the cook, you know. We've got nothing to do with it. He knows better than to give us soup with soap in it.”

“But, hold on a minute; all the soup came out of the same kettle.”

“Sure enough; he's soap-souped us all. Go ahead; we're with you.”

The cook would have been roughly handled had he not called on the officer of the day for protection. The cook protested that the soap had not been in the soup kettle, but must have fallen off the shelf over the window as the soldier held his tin cup through the opening to receive his soup. This theory was gladly accepted by all but the trooper who had found the soap in his cup. By this time he was too sick to be aggressive.

“Boys, send my body home,” he moaned.

“Soap suds,” chorused the troopers who had been relieved from the terrible suspicion that they had been fed on soap also. The poor victim was given a drink of hospital brandy as soon as he could retain anything on his stomach. He was on the sick report for four or five days.

Paragraph 1,190 of the Revised Regulations for the Army (1863), fixed the soldier's daily ration as follows:

Twelve ounces of pork or bacon, or one pound and four ounces of salt or fresh beef; one pound and six ounces of soft bread or flour, or one pound of hard bread, or one pound and four ounces of corn meal; and to every one hundred rations, fifteen pounds of peas or beans, and ten pounds of rice or hominy; ten pounds of green coffee, or eight pounds of roasted (or roasted and ground) coffee, or one pound and eight ounces of tea; fifteen pounds of sugar; four quarts of vinegar; one pound and four ounces of adamantine or star candles; four pounds of soap; three pounds and twelve ounces of salt; four ounces of pepper; thirty pounds of potatoes, when practicable, and one quart of molasses.

I have quoted the exact language of the regulations for the information of civilians who every now and then inquire of the veterans: “What did the Government feed you fellows on down in Dixie?” Hard-tack, salt pork and coffee were the soldier's mainstay. The sweetest meal I ever ate consisted of crumbs of hardtack picked up out of the dirt, where the boxes had been opened to issue crackers to the troops, and a piece of salt pork that had been thrown away by an infantry soldier. I still cherish the memory of that feast.

There were two or three violinists in our battalion, and the boys occasionally induced these musicians to fiddle for a “stag dance,” as they called the old-fashioned quadrille in which troopers with their caps off went through “ladies' chain” and other figures prescribed for the fair partners in the regulation dance. The dances took place by the light of the camp fires between retreat and tattoo. The boys managed to get a good deal of enjoyment out of these gatherings.

During the war a great many men made fortunes by selling goods of various kinds, including provisions, to the soldiers. The army traders took big chances after the spring campaign opened, unless they packed up and moved to the rear as the troops marched to the front. Yet there were sutlers who followed the army even on dangerous expeditions into the enemy s country. The boys contended that if a trader could sell one wagon load of goods at sutler's prices—and get his pay—he could afford to retire or to lose five or six wagon loads. There was much truth in the statement.

Among many stories current in the Army of the Potomac about “euchring the sutler,” as the soldiers called any trick by which they could secure goods without coming down with the cash, was the following:

The troops were in bivouac on the James River. The boys received four months' pay, and there was no place to buy anything except at the sutler's. The trader took advantage of the situation and marked his goods up fifty per cent. He had just received a barrel of whiskey, which he was retailing at fifty cents a glass. The sutler's glass held a little more than a thimbleful. There was a run on the whiskey for a time. Then trade slacked up, and the sutler was at a loss to account for it, as it was contrary to all precedent, the rule being that the more liquor the boys got the more they wanted. Finally the call for whiskey ceased.

“What's the matter with the men?” the sutler asked one of his clerks.

“I don't know—they never acted like this before.”

“They're not buying our whiskey.”

“No.”

“And many of them seem to be getting drunk.”

“That's so.”

“Must be somebody else's selling in camp. I thought we had a corner on whiskey.”

“So did I.”

“Well, you go out and see what you can find.”

The clerk was gone about five minutes.

“Have we competition?” inquired the sutler, as the clerk returned to the tent.

“Well, I should say so.”

“What are they selling at?”

“Twenty-five cents a drink.”

“Just half our price?”

“Yes.”

“Where are they located?”

“Right outside our tent.”

“Where do they keep their liquor?”

“Take hold of the barrel with me and I'll show you.” The sutler was surprised to find a faucet in the rear end of the barrel as well as in the front end from which he had been drawing.

“Somebody tapped this barrel from the outside,” he exclaimed.

“Yes, and retailed your liquor at twenty-five cents a drink while you asked fifty. It's no wonder they drew all the customers,” said the clerk.

“There's but a little whiskey left in the barrel—not more'n a gallon. Don't sell another drop for less than two dollars a glass.”

A Down East Yankee had made the discovery that the sutler's whiskey barrel was so placed that one end of it, as it was resting on boxes, touched the canvas. He went around behind the tent, cut a hole through the canvas, and after borrowing a brace and bit from an extra-duty man in the quartermaster's department and a faucet from another comrade in the commissary department.

Union men, enlisted to put down the rebellion, had a way of thinking for themselves, and of making observations of what transpired around them, that was exasperatingly fatal to the regular red-tape idea that a soldier was a machine and nothing more. When it became necessary to perform daring deeds in the very jaws of death, the intelligent Yankee volunteers were capable of understanding, he tapped the sutler's whiskey barrel and did a thriving business, the enterprise being advertised by word of mouth through the camp.

It never failed to be noised about that something was in the wind several days before the receipt of orders for any movement of importance. The great multitudes of citizens who bore arms under the flag of the that sacrifice was demanded. And they made it, bravely and without complaint.

Whenever a big thing was on the programme it was next to impossible to keep it quiet. The old soldiers seemed to grasp the situation intuitively, and the recruits generally knew more about it, or thought they did, than the generals themselves.

There were certain signs in our military existence that came to be accepted as reliable. Orders from brigade headquarters to have the horses well shod at once, meant a cavalry expedition into the enemy's country. Extra ammunition for the light batteries that belonged to the cavalry corps meant that the movement was to be a reconnaissance in force. The assembling of a division or two of infantry in battle trim near the cavalry outposts, with several days' commissary stores in transit, showed that an attempt was to be made to gobble up another slice of the Confederacy or make a break in the communications of the rebels. The issuing of dog tents, extra ammunition and commissary supplies as a rule preceded the starting of an expedition against the enemy. A sudden dashing out of camp, light saddle, and unencumbered with anything but arms and ammunition, in response to a signal from the outposts, always gave rise to the suspicion, frequently confirmed in the heat of battle, that the Johnnies were making an expedition against us.

The rumors of a general advance came thicker and faster the last week in April, and May the third the long roll was sounded by the brigade buglers. The breaking up of winter quarters was always attended with scenes that were excruciatingly funny. What a lot of worthless old plunder the soldiers would accumulate! It always required sorting over a dozen times before the boys could really determine just what to leave behind. And then it invariably happened that after the very last thing that they could spare or think of abandoning had been cast out the inspecting officers would poke around and order us to throw out the articles we prized most highly.

Railroad communication with Washington and the North had made it comparatively easy for us to secure creature comforts, and many delicacies from the homes of the boys in blue reached our camp. Waterman had received a large-sized packing box full of good things to eat, from his parents. The goodies were shared among “our four”—Waterman, Taylor, Hom and myself.

The first feed we had after the cover of Waterman's box was taken off brought tears to our eyes—tears of joy, of course—but somehow the taste of the home-made pies and cake produced a longing for home and mother which was made all the more intense as the contents of the box disappeared and we came face to face with the stern reality that a return to “mule beef and hard-tack” was inevitable.

Waterman's parents resided only a short distance from where my father and mother lived in Berlin, and when his box was sent my family helped to fill and pack the box. Then when the dear people at home thought our food must be getting low another box was packed by my parents, and Waterman's family contributed some of the good things. It was sent by express, but owing to the increased demand upon the railroads and trains to forward munitions of war to the Army of the Potomac, my box did not reach Warrenton until the morning that we started for the Wilderness. The company was drawn up in line waiting to move forward when a Government wagon arrived loaded with boxes and packages for the troopers. My long-expected box was thrown out of the wagon, and I obtained permission to interview it.

I pried off the cover, and as I caught a glimpse of the good things from home, I felt like annihilating the quartermaster's department that had held back my box while extra supplies of ammunition and commissary stores had been dispatched to the front. Just then the bugler at brigade headquarters sounded “forward.” There was no time to waste. I did the best I could under the circumstances—filled my haversack, and invited the boys in the company to help themselves, after “our four” had stowed away all we could. The second platoon swept down on that box, and in less than a minute the boys were eating home-made pies and cookies all along the line. A picture or two, a pair of knit socks and a few souvenirs were secured by Waterman and myself.

“Attention, company!”

“Prepare to mount!”

“Mount!”

“Form ranks!”

“By fours, march!” and we were en route to the Rapidan. It was the last taste of home-made grub that we enjoyed till the campaign was over. We secured the makings of a square meal now and then while raiding around Richmond, but the territory had been foraged so often that it was considered mighty poor picking the last two years of the war.

As we rode forward, we found that everybody was on the march or getting ready to leave. Lines of tents were disappearing on all sides as the long roll sounded through the camps. Supply trains were moving out, and everything was headed about due south. As we rode by the bivouacs of the infantry, the foot soldiers, imitating the Johnnies, would sing out:

“Hay, there! where be you all goin'?”

“Bound for Richmond.”

“But we all are not ready to move out yet.”

“Then we'll drive you out.”

“You all can't whip we all. Bob Lee will drive you all back as he has done before.”

Then there would be a general laugh all along the line at the expression in this semi-serious way of an idea that had gained a strong lodgment in the minds of many “peace patriots” at the North. The soldiers at the front who were doing their best to crush out rebellion did not share in the feeling that the Jeff Davis government would carry the day. The veterans of Gettysburg and of Antietam knew that the Union army was in no respect inferior to the chivalry of the South—man to man. All the Army of the Potomac needed to enable it to fight Lee's army to the finish, and win, was a commander that knew what fighting to a finish meant. Would the new commander fill the bill?

President Lincoln, in presenting Grant's commission as lieutenant-general at the White House, March 9, 1864, assured the modest hero from the West that “as the country herein trusts you, so, under God, it will sustain you.” A few days after the lieutenant-general remarked: “The Army of the Potomac is a very fine one, and has shown the highest courage. Still, I think it has never fought its battles through.” The Army of the Potomac was waiting for a general who would give it an opportunity to “fight its battles through.” All eyes were fixed on the lieutenant-general. The result is recorded in history.

As we pressed toward the Rapidan there were evidences all about us that the Army of the Potomac was stripping for the fight. All superfluous baggage and trappings were left behind. The army was ready to strike a powerful blow at its old adversary, and the conflict was at hand. Sheridan was at the head of the cavalry corps. As we came in sight of the Rapidan and made preparations for swimming the river with our horses to cover the laying of the pontoon bridges, so that the infantry and artillery could cross, we felt that a few days would determine whether the Army of the Potomac would go “on to Richmond,” or, bleeding and shattered from an unsuccessful onslaught upon Lee's veterans, fall back to its old quarters, as it had done on other occasions.