The Battalion at Newport News Once More—The Garrison and Officers—Anecdotes of General Phelps—The Famous Drills—Guard Duty—“Parish” and “Brick” Houses—The Negroes—The Soldiers Teach the Boys to Drill—Counting the Rails—Scouting.

The time which was spent by the Battalion at Newport News after it was last ordered here (Aug. 18, 1861), covering as it did the remainder of the term of service as such an organization, and embracing nearly five months of its service as a part of the Twenty-ninth Regiment, seems to demand a full account of the operations at this post during this period; for although the place never possessed much significance after the beginning of the Peninsular campaign, in May, 1862, yet it was here that the members of the Battalion and regiment were thoroughly schooled in their duties.

During the summer of 1861, Phelps (who was still in command here) had been deservedly advanced to the rank of brigadier-general. The brief account heretofore given of the early military career of this officer scarcely furnishes our readers with anything more than a general knowledge of him; for, although a soldier of the strictest sect, he employed certain peculiar methods of discipline which most professional military men would regard with disfavor, but which were none the less wholesome, and admirably adapted to the volunteers, whose character he seemed thoroughly to understand. All his orders of prohibition were directed against the enlisted men, though he expected the officers to take the hint and always set a good example.

A good illustration of this system of discipline is furnished by the following incident: During the warm months, the soldiers were much in the habit of bathing upon the beach, which was sandy and smooth, and it was by no means infrequent that several hundreds of these bathers were seen enjoying together the refreshing waters of the James. What was chiefly objectionable about this was the practice of the men in bathing at all hours of the day, and in large numbers; and the habit was not wholly confined to the men, some of the officers of lesser rank doing the same thing. Finally, an order was issued forbidding bathing upon the beach between the hours of guard-mount in the morning and retreat at night. Not long after the publication of the order, the General, while sitting in front of his quarters, a little cottage that overlooked the river and shore, observed two young officers preparing to bathe in front of his house. Waiting till they had undressed, he called to the Sergeant of the Guard, and ordered him to arrest the two officers and bring them naked to his quarters. The Sergeant, with good relish and alacrity, obeyed the order, and locking arms with the nude officials, who begged loudly for their clothes, conducted them (a highly-amused crowd of soldiers looking on from the camp) into the presence of the Commander, who, though inwardly pleased, presented a stern countenance.

“Have you heard of the order about bathing?” asked the General. “Yes, General,” replied one of the culprits; “but we are officers, and the order applies only to enlisted men.” “Very true, gentlemen,” says Phelps, in his peculiar tone and Yankee accent; “but how is a soldier to know an officer except by his dress? If you choose to bathe naked, and expect to be recognized as officers, pray have your shoulder-straps buttoned on to you. Go to your quarters.”

This ingenious and witty reprimand had all the effect of one of greater severity, while it furnished the garrison with a good joke to laugh over; and it showed, also, the democratic spirit in which the laws of the post were to be administered.

Phelps was a superior drill-master, and it was to the rigid system of drill inaugurated by him, and continued by his worthy successor, General Mansfield, that the troops constituting the garrison at Newport News owe much of the proficiency which they displayed in the battles and campaigns of a later date. Any narrative of the life of the Battalion at this place would be imperfect unless it embraced some mention of the drills to which allusion has been made. The ground was very favorable for extensive movements; the long plain was covered with a thick coat of velvety grass, and very little broken. General Phelps almost invariably took personal charge of these drills, though he sometimes intrusted them to his colonels, a number of whom were very able officers. The spectacle presented by these manoeuvres was often grand. The troops, consisting of four full regiments, three large battalions, and a light battery, were exercised in all the varied field movements, creating an interest among the troops that was sometimes intense, and giving rise to a most wholesome rivalry among the officers and men of the different regiments. An amusing incident occurred in connection with one of these drills, which shows, perhaps, even better than the anecdote just related, the eccentricity of Phelps, and his novel methods of reproving delinquency.

A regiment belonging on the right of the line was late one day, and the rest of the brigade was kept waiting several minutes for it to arrive. At last the slow ones made their appearance, coming out of their camp on the double-quick, in the hope of making up for their tardiness; but when they were about two hundred yards off, the General gave an order which swung the brigade by battalions, in mass, to the left and rear, and then another that turned it end for end. The unfortunate regiment was then in front of the line, double-quicking to its place. Phelps, flinging the right wing of the brigade to the rear again, and the left wing forward, kept the regiment trotting around the outside of the field a full hour, with the massed battalions swinging on their centre, away from them. At last he deployed in line again, by extension from the left, and allowed the “double-quickers” to get to their place, and when they had supported arms, the facetious old General promptly raised his hat and dismissed the drill. The laggards had been suitably punished for their lack of punctuality, and the General and the rest of the soldiers had enjoyed a good joke.

Having spoken of the Commander of the Post, it seems proper to make some allusion to his troops, and his most able subalterns, as a part of the description of the personnel of the camp. After the departure of the Fourth Massachusetts and First Vermont militia, and later the Ninth New York, all of which regiments were made up of a fine class of men, the permanent garrison here consisted of the First, Second, and Seventh New York regiments, the remnants of the Eleventh New York, Ellsworth’s old regiment, a portion of the Twentieth New York, the Massachusetts Battalion, and Captain Loder’s U. S. Light Battery. The First New York was an orderly body of troops, commanded by Colonel Dyckman, and occupied a portion of the works on the extreme left of the brigade line. The Second was raised chiefly in Troy, and became a good fighting regiment; its colonel, Carr, was a talented officer, who afterwards won a brigadier’s stars. The Seventh was, for a part of the time, commanded by Colonel Bendix, the Eleventh by Lieutenant-Colonel Losier, a well-drilled officer, and the Twentieth, German, by Max Weber, later in the war a brigadier-general. The Seventh New York, composed wholly of Germans, was a superior regiment in every respect, and several of its officers had held, and some of them then held, high rank in the army of Prussia. Early in the autumn of 1861, Colonel Bendix resigned, and was succeeded by Lieutenant-Colonel Kappf, Major Caspar Keller became Lieutenant-Colonel, and Captain George Von Schack of the Prussian Guards was made Major. Not long after, Kappf resigned, and Von Schack was promoted to the colonelcy, Keller very generously waiving his claims. Von Schack was a soldier of high breeding and of the best blood of Prussia; his father, General Von Schack, was the chief of staff to Prince Frederick Carl in one or more campaigns of the army of Prussia. When Colonel George Von Schack came to us, he was a lieutenant of the Prussian Guards, and had been chamberlain to the Prince. Of all the colonels of foreign, and particularly of continental, lineage or extraction, in the early part of the war, Von Schack was the most earnest in his efforts to learn the American way. From the first, he gave his commands in English, and tolerated no innovation upon the prescribed tactics of movements. He seemed exceedingly desirous of learning the habits and traits of character of the Americans, and soon proved himself a very apt student; for, beside learning to appreciate those with whom he was fighting, he soon learned to appreciate and love the cause for which he was fighting, and the Union army contained no more ardent patriot than he. He was an excellent drill-master, and the “Steuben Seventh,” under his command, acquired a name and a fame for discipline and efficiency in the volunteers equal to that of the “Fancy Seventh” in the militia. He served throughout the war with distinction, was several times severely wounded in battle, and at the close of the Rebellion held the well-earned rank of brigadier-general.

A camp so isolated as that at Newport News, being about twelve miles from Fortress Monroe, and having no safe communication with it except by water, required the establishment of an outpost and the maintenance of a strong picket. To ensure immunity from an attack by sea, one or more vessels of our navy were kept constantly anchored in the river. At one time, early in the summer, the ship “Savannah” was on duty, but she was soon after relieved by the frigate “Congress” and the sloop-of-war “Cumberland,” the latter vessels remaining till the disastrous battle of the 8th and 9th of March, 1862, when both were destroyed. The picket line was very long, and for the most part located in the deep forest which bordered the plain. Roads and foot-paths penetrated the woods in every direction, furnishing so many avenues of approach to our lines, rendering necessary not only the utmost vigilance, but a strong guard. More than once, during the dark nights of the summer and autumn, scouting parties of the enemy crept stealthily along these covered ways, and attempted to surprise our sentinels. Several of these picket stations were considerably remote from the camp; that of “Brick House Station,” a large brick mansion standing in the midst of an open field, and more properly an outpost, was the most distant from the main camp; but the most isolated, and certainly the most exposed of these stations, was the “Parish House,” occupied by an infirm and aged Virginian, who claimed to be a Unionist, and who owned some thirty slaves of all ages. His plantation was very large, and skirted the shores of Hampton Roads. At this place, the small force of three men and a corporal usually constituted the guard, which was generally composed of members of the Battalion. The old planter was very nervous, and always complaining of some real or fancied injury; his swine and poultry, of which he had large numbers, frequently came home at night with diminished ranks. But his chief and more serious affliction was caused by the voluntary departure of his able-bodied negroes; they would hover about the Union camp in spite of all the old man could do or say. The few that remained with him consisted chiefly of faithful old women and helpless children. Among the latter was a bright-eyed, well-favored mulatto boy, about ten years old; he soon became the favorite of our soldiers, who shortened an old musket for him, and taught him the manual of arms. The youth became very proficient in the exercise, and imparted his military knowledge to the other young negro boys upon the plantation, who, providing themselves with sticks and brooms, frequently drilled under their little chief in the presence of the guard.

When the cool nights of September and October came, service upon the picket line was by no means agreeable; to keep themselves warm, the men would build fires, and, although there was scarcely any part of the line destitute of material for a fire, yet the rail fences, composed of well-seasoned wood, were usually taken for this purpose. When this practice became known at headquarters, General Wool issued a very stringent order forbidding it. Each field-officer of the day was instructed by General Phelps to use his utmost endeavors to cause this order to be complied with, but it was far more easy to give such orders than to enforce them. Some of the stations could not be reached at all by this officer at night, and many of them not oftener than once in twenty-four hours; the result was, that this order was practically a nullity.

On a certain occasion, during the time of which we have spoken, Captain Clarke of the Battalion was field-officer of the day. As was always the case, he received special instructions from General Phelps to enforce the order relative to the burning of rails. Clarke was relieved by Major Gaebel of the Seventh New York, and the two officers, as is customary, proceeded to the headquarters of General Phelps just after guard-mount, Captain C. having turned over to his successor the orders received by him on the day previous. The General stated to Major Gaebel that there were no new orders relative to the duties of the officer of the day, and if he had received the orders from Captain C., he was sufficiently informed concerning them, though he considered it necessary to call his attention to the particular order about burning rails,—that it “must be enforced.” Major G. replied that Captain Clarke had already called his attention to that matter, and he “would see that it was enforced.” Phelps, well aware of the practice of the guards, replied, “O, yes, you will see that it is enforced; all officers are willing to do that”; and then, turning to Clarke, said, “Now, yesterday morning, Captain, I called your attention specially to this subject; but it was very cold last night, and you may depend upon it the men did not suffer for want of rails, order or no order.” This seemed to Clarke like a reflection upon his official conduct, and, without considering the effect of his words, he promptly answered, “There were no rails burned last night, sir.” “O, indeed!” said Phelps; “then it is true, is it, that no rails were burned last night?” “No, sir; not a rail,” said Clarke, with an air of increased assurance and injured dignity. “O, indeed! And pray, Captain, how do you know?” With this question, the dialogue had reached an interesting point; sure enough, how did he know? and what would he say to this? There were miles of rail fences, and almost an infinite number of rails. “Why,” said the quick-witted Captain, now fairly driven to the wall, “when I received your orders yesterday morning, I proceeded to count the rails, and just before coming off duty this morning, I again counted them; and they were all there, General, every one.” This answer was evidently unexpected by Phelps; it would have been unmilitary to question the veracity of his subaltern; but he evidently didn’t believe the absurd statement, though uttered with great apparent candor, and with every show of good faith. The General’s countenance suddenly changed; it was a terrible test of his courtesy not to say something disagreeable, and, with a look of undisguised astonishment, he turned from Clarke to Gaebel, and said, “Major, count the rails! Good morning, gentlemen!”

Whether the Major ever counted the rails, we do not know, but it is reported, that, upon leaving the office of General Phelps, he expressed his regrets for having had imposed upon him, through Clarke’s intemperate statement, a duty that would consume the remainder of his term to perform.

On the 21st of October, the Battalion had a little affair with the enemy, on the Warwick Road, about five miles from Newport News, by which it earned considerable praise and reputation for steadiness. A bakery having been established at Camp Butler (Newport News), large quantities of fuel was required. At various points throughout the vast forest, which, with slight interruptions, stretched from Hampton Roads to Richmond, were piles of seasoned wood; one of these, containing several hundred cords, was located near the bank of the James River, and on the road before mentioned. On the morning of the day named, Captain Barnes received orders from General Phelps to take the teams of the post (twenty-one wagons and eighty-two mules and horses) and go into the forest for wood. Barnes took with him two hundred officers and men. Lieutenant Mayo had the immediate supervision of the train, Chamberlain had the advance, and Clarke the rear of the column; and a small body of scouts, under a corporal of Company I, was thrown out some distance in advance of the head of the column. The road for most of the distance lay through a dense wilderness. When the little band had reached a point about a mile from its destination, the scouts came suddenly upon an ambuscade of the enemy, on the right of the road, where the forest was deep and dark. The Confederates rose up quickly from behind some logs and bushes, where up to that moment they had lain concealed, discharged their pieces, and at the same moment made a rush for our scouts, capturing one of the number, Augustus A. Blaney, and then hurrying away with him into their lines. The companies were ordered up immediately, filed to the left of the road, and formed in line of battle. There seemed to be quite a number of the enemy in the woods, and although our men could only here and there catch a glimpse of them as they skulked behind the trees, yet they fired a volley or two, whereupon the enemy fled. The train then proceeded to the wood-pile, the wagons were filled and started homeward, meeting on the way the Seventh New York Regiment and Loder’s Light Battery, which had been sent out by General Phelps, after the firing began, to render aid to the Battalion. This affair, though really very trifling, caused considerable excitement at the time, and the officers and men were highly complimented by both Generals Phelps and Wool; the conduct of the Battalion on this occasion acquiring some additional importance from the fact that every previous attempt of our troops to obtain wood in that locality had been frustrated by the enemy, and had resulted in the capture, in more than one instance, of several of our men and teams.

One of the unsuccessful efforts to gather wood at this place was the origin of a good story, which was often told in Camp Butler; and though the author does not vouch for its entire accuracy, yet he gives it as another specimen of Phelps’s wit, and as a camp story, whatever its worth.

The German officer who had charge of this expedition, as the story goes, reported to the General an encounter with the enemy, and the loss of four mules. “Did you lose any men killed?” asked Phelps. “No, sir.” “Any wounded?” “No, sir; but, mein Gott, Scheneral, they carry off four jackass.” “Very well, Captain, you will charge those four jackass to yourself on the next pay-roll,” quietly answered the General. In the course of a few days, the same officer came to headquarters and reported another skirmish, the capture by his command of two or three of the enemy and a pair of horses, and one or two slight casualties in his company. The officer stood before Phelps with dilated eyes, as he made his report, his face glowing with enthusiasm and pride at the thought of his gallant performance, and the expectation of being cordially commended for it by his superior; but his ardor was somewhat abated by the following congratulation: “I am very glad, Captain, you have got those horses, for now you needn’t pay for but two of the mules you lost.”

The Battalion having acquired a reputation for bravery, and won the confidence of General Phelps, by its success on the Warwick Road, that officer was very naturally led into again selecting it for the same service; and in the course of a few weeks from that time, Captain Barnes received orders to go for wood. The five companies, with a large number of teams, marched up the river to the wood-pile which has just been mentioned, and loaded all the wagons without being molested by the enemy. When this was accomplished, the teams were headed toward camp, accompanied by a strong guard, the balance of the Battalion following slowly in the rear.

The train had gone but a short distance, when the advance guard reported that the enemy were visible in the woods in front, apparently in large numbers. The teams were at once stopped, and it was soon found that the report was correct, and that a considerable force of the enemy’s cavalry were evidently moving into position, for the purpose of intercepting our train. The situation of the Battalion was rather serious in its nature. It was readily seen by the officers that it would be a difficult undertaking to force a passage with the long line of wagons loaded with wood, with their mules and horses. Prompt action was required. A forest road was fortunately discovered that led toward the James River, and gradually towards camp; and this road was found to terminate near the river, at a stream which flowed into the James. From the other side of this stream, the road continued toward camp; but this rivulet, which was probably fordable at certain seasons of the year, was at this time impassable for teams. Our skirmishers were directed to occupy the attention of the enemy if necessary, while the head of the train was turned into the forest road, and a strong detail of men, under Captain Doten, made to throw a bridge across the stream. With great celerity, rails and logs were gathered, and a rude bridge constructed, over which our wagons all managed to cross with safety, and were no sooner on the other side than they struck the open lands on the banks of the James River, and moved rapidly toward camp.

The enemy, who were some distance away, and between whom and the main body of the Battalion there intervened a dense woods, were wholly ignorant of these movements, evidently supposing that the wagons could move to camp only on the main road, which they were guarding. They had not even deemed it necessary to attack our skirmishers, until they saw our wagons a long distance away, moving across the open country. They then, for the first time, realized that they had been outwitted, and immediately moved forward to attack the Battalion. The skirmishers fell back, and the Battalion formed in line of battle.

The whole situation had been changed. The wagons were now safe, and were on their way toward camp; and this having been happily accomplished, our men were unhampered, and in a condition to give the enemy a warm reception. This the Confederates seemed to realize fully, and after exchanging a few shots, withdrew, the Battalion marching leisurely to camp. At the “Brick House Picket,” they were met by General Phelps, who had been already informed of the affair by the officer in immediate charge of the train. When the General learned how the movement had been conducted, he was greatly pleased, and bestowed warm commendations upon the officers and men of the Battalion.

As, in the course of this narrative, we are soon to speak of a change in the command of the post, and hence to take leave of General Phelps, we feel that we cannot do so without giving a few more instances of his sparkling wit.

One day, a young artillery officer, fresh from civil life, was observed to have the wrists of his new white gauntlets covered with tables written with ink. He was asked by the General what these figures were, and why he had them written upon his gauntlets. The young officer explained that his memory of ranges and elevations was poor, and he had hit upon that plan of having them always before him. “Now, that is very ingenious,” said Phelps; “a West Point officer, I dare say, would never have thought of that.” “Yes,” said the officer, delighted by the General’s apparent approval of his plan, “I thought it was a most excellent idea.” “I see but one drawback to it,” said the General; “if you should happen to lose your gloves, you would have to let your sergeant command the battery.” Those gauntlets were never seen on drill afterwards.

An acting adjutant of one of the regiments at Newport News made, while on drill, several humiliating blunders. The General thought it an opportunity for a moral lecture to all the officers. “Adjutant,” said he, “if you spent more time over your books, and less time in drinking and carousing, you would appear far more creditably on drill.” “Excuse me, General, but I don’t drink,” replied the officer. “Well,” said Phelps, “I am very sorry for it. There’s no excuse whatever, then, for your blunders; ‘tis sheer stupidity.”

The General understood all the peculiarities of volunteer soldiers, and where they operated to the disadvantage of good discipline, he sought to correct them, not as would most officers, by punishment, but by some ingenious device, often mirth-provoking, but none the less salutary in its effects. One of these traits of the volunteers, the outgrowth of their free American life, and their habits of study and self-reliance, was a keen desire to know the object and reason of every order given them, and, if not told the object, to guess at it, and then execute the order with sole reference to its supposed intent. This propensity had annoyed General Phelps exceedingly. To effectually break up this habit, and to substitute for it the obedience of the regular, was his desire, and he watched for some good opportunity to teach the lesson to all his officers. The opportunity soon presented itself. A Confederate tug-boat, armed with a gun of long range, came down the James one day and commenced firing at the United States ship “Savannah.” The General ordered a gun to be fired at her with 14° of elevation. The officer in charge of our battery, who was a member of the Battalion, thought 16° would be better, and giving the gun that range, made a superb shot, sending a ball directly through the smoke-stack of the tug. “Now you have the range, Lieutenant, fire away,” was the General’s sole remark, as he turned and left the battery. The tug turned and steamed away up the river, and was soon out of range. The Lieutenant thought himself highly complimented by the General, exerted himself to the utmost to fire rapidly, and at mess that night related the incident to his brother officers with great gusto, not hesitating to assert that his knowledge of artillery practice was even superior to that of the commanding general. At midnight, General Phelps sent for Captain Barnes, commanding the Battalion. On his reporting, the General began afar off, “I was wakeful to-night, and thought you might be willing to relieve me of my uneasiness by giving me a little of your company,” and then he began talking in this wise. “The officers and men are all good, but they are volunteers; they are better than regulars in one respect,—they are zealous,—but they are very bad in another: they think of the object of an order, and execute it zealously in the direction of the object they imagine is intended. Now, there is Lieutenant —— of your command, a capital officer, very zealous and intelligent; he has a first-rate notion about artillery; he makes excellent shots. I told him to fire at the tug to-day, and to give the gun 14° elevation, but he gave it 16°, and made as good a long shot as I ever saw: he hit the boat; his zeal carried him away; he didn’t obey his orders; he thought I wanted him to hit the boat; I wanted, instead, to tole her down nearer, when I could have easily blown her out of the water. Your Lieutenant thus spoiled my whole plan. Now, go back to your quarters, call the Lieutenant up, and tell him this, that I have just told you; make him understand it. That is all the punishment I think he will need.”

Lieutenant —— was duly summoned, and received his reprimand. While he never again boasted of his skill as an artillerist, and was compelled to endure the jests of his brother officers, he nevertheless learned a lesson of implicit obedience to orders, that proved very valuable to him during the remainder of his honorable service in the army.