PICKET duty may be the most agreeable or it may be the most disagreeable of all the duties of a soldier, but it is always an important, and is often a dangerous one.

Picket-guards are formed by details on orders from headquarters. Sometimes the guard will include the entire regiment, or details from several regiments, but if the orders are from the battalion headquarters, it is usually composed of detachments from several companies. The officers are detailed from the adjutant’s roster and the designation of the enlisted men from each company devolves upon the first or orderly sergeants. The officers, non-commissioned officers and men, are supposed to be taken for duty in rotation, and woe befall the unfortunate orderly who designates one of the confirmed growlers out of what he considers his turn, as laid down on his own time-table, and many are the threats heaped on the head of the sergeants, which happily are never executed.

Under command of the ranking officer, the detachment is marched out and posted to guard the line assigned to its protection—usually there is merely a chain of sentinels who are relieved at regular intervals of time from the main body; but sometimes, and always in the case of detached outposts, the men are divided into groups of three or more, under the supervision of the non-commissioned officers of the guard, while the commander of the whole line establishes reserves at points convenient for reinforcing it in case of need, and assigns to the subalterns the command of various portions.

Relieved from the wearisome round of camp duties and parades, and placed where each man has his own responsibilities, and must exercise his own judgment, picket duty often becomes an acceptable change, both for officers and men. In the warm season the men make a sort of picnic of their tour, and out on the front edge of the occupying army they can frequently obtain articles of food, which, although common enough in civil life, are real luxuries to those who have been limited in their diet to the rations issued in the army. They bask in the sunshine, or loiter in the shade—and when it is their turn for repose, the jackknives are busy and the chat is lively.

Sometimes our picket-line would be on a river, the opposite bank of which was guarded by the enemy, and there would be times of unofficial truce when we traded over the stream coffee for tobacco, etc., and when we even made visits to each other, and talked as freely as if we might not at a moment’s notice be enemies again.

But it is one of the unfortunate facts in a soldier’s life, that picket duty is not confined to quiet times or pleasant weather. The growlers usually maintained that it was always stormy when they were out on picket, and in three winters that we dwelt in tents within the boundaries of Virginia, there were many rough times on the picket lines when the rain poured down continuously, saturating the ground, clinging to the grass in the open, and to the undergrowth in the forests, and streaming down from the boughs—wet, wet—water, water, everywhere; on the ground where we slept, on the stone or log which was the only seat; dribbling through a corner of the tent, usually down the neck of its occupant, or making a little rill off one’s overcoat and into one’s boot top.

Or perhaps it was snow or sleet that stung our faces and chilled us to the marrow; or perhaps, worst of all, the clear cold of winter which our little picket fires, when they were permitted, did but little to overcome.

There was one occasion while we were at Liberty, on which we were indulged with all of these in turn. It was early in the spring of ‘64, the day had been warm and rainy, unseasonably warm and quite seasonably rainy, the rain continuing into the night and the wind rising to a gale that made all manner of noises in the wood in which our line was posted. The men all soaked through, had hard work to keep their ammunition dry and their rifles in condition for use, and all of us, uncomfortable as mortals could be, feeling as if the night would never pass and morning never come, wished more heartily than ever “that this cruel war was over,” that we might have a chance to get in out of the rain.

All of a sudden the wind shifted to the northwest, and we had first hail, then snow, and finally clear cold weather, the gale all the time continuing; the men themselves, almost chilled to icicles, were soon clothed in armor of ice, which cracked and rustled as they tramped along their beat, beneath a clear sky and stars that shone with winter brilliancy.

The morning came at last, and with the rising sun there was exhibited one of those marvels of beauty which can come only from such a preparation. Every twig and branch of tree or shrub, and every spear of grass or tuft of herbage clad in a coating of ice, blazed with the hue of the rainbow. The trees in the forest seemed loaded with jewels, and the meadows were strewn with them.

But the power of the spring sunshine dissolved the gorgeous display, and thawed out the sentinels from their encasements of ice; the wind ceased, the mildness of the balmy Southern spring returned, and soon from every man a cloud of steam rose in the quiet air, and as their clothing dried and their bodies warmed, the spirits of the men thawed out, and they who, in the previous twenty-four hours, had passed through various stages of discomfort, were cheerily chaffing one another as they made their breakfast of hot coffee and soaked cakes of what had once been hard-tack, and very likely wrote home the next day about the charms of the Southern climate, which gave them such delicious spring weather in what was at home the winter month of March.

Whether it is summer or winter, hot or cold, sunshine or rain, day or night, and however peaceful or stormy the scene may be, the picket guard must keep their eyes open and their powder dry. Constituting the outposts of an army which trusts to them, they must be always alert against surprise. And although we may have been accustomed for weeks to exchange friendly civilities with the pickets over the river, the time would come when each would do his best to kill the other. When some change was contemplated, or some movement began which it was desirable to conceal from our adversary, orders would be sent to the pickets to open fire on those of the enemy.

Such orders were of course first notified to the other side, and no advantage was taken by either of existing truce relations. After that warning, whoever showed out of cover was a target for the enemy’s picket, and frequently no fires were allowed, because the light or smoke would aid the aim of the foe.

If the movement was a direct advance from our front, the first order would be announced by shouts of “Look out, Johnnie, we’re coming,” and some shots sent purposely in the air, and then came the driving in of the enemy’s pickets.

Or possibly the boot was on the other leg and it was we that were driven in, in which case it was our duty to cause all possible delay to the attacking force. The reserves were added to the line, and as we fell back the whole would be relieved by other troops sent forward at the alarm and interposed between us and the rebels, whereupon we were marched to join our respective regiments and companies.

Sometimes it is desirable to capture some men from the pickets of the opposing army, in order or in hopes of obtaining information, and sometimes a picket is captured for a lark, or because of a favorable chance—a chance which generally implies neglect of duty on the part of the captured men.

In one instance an outpost party of five men, believing themselves to be at a safe distance from the enemy, ventured to indulge in the luxury of a game of cards, for which purpose they placed their arms in a stack, and soon became deeply interested in the game, from which they were aroused by a summons to surrender. Upon looking up they discovered a single man of the enemy, standing between them and the stack, his rifle trained on the group, and himself so posted as that he could supply himself with their rifles after discharging his own. Thus he could put two or three of his opponents hors de combat, while, all unarmed, they could not possibly harm him; and so the five surrendered to the one, who marched them before him to his own lines.

When things were lively on the picket lines and the men alert, it was wearing business. The strain of constant watchfulness, especially at night, peering into the gloom and imagining that you see forms or hear movements—the knowledge that your own life may depend upon the keenness of your vision—the fear of mistaking friend for foe—the need of quick intelligence and rapid reasoning—all make up an exhausting kind of duty.

At one such time, one of our officers, a brave fellow, but one whose experience of picket duty was insufficient, thinking to ascertain the origin of suspicious sounds outside our lines, went out on a scout, expecting to return at the point where he left, but mistaking his way in the night, he came upon our chain of pickets at another post which he had neglected to warn of his doings. As he continued to approach when challenged, the sentinel fired, and next day among the casualties reported was, “One officer wounded on the picket line, arm, severely.” No one was to blame but himself.

That same night the men, nervous from the frequent firing along the line, one of the posts became aware of the sound of steps out in the bush field on their front, evidently approaching nearer and nearer; then one of the men could see what seemed to be a man crouching near the earth and creeping through the brush with frequent hesitation; finally the sentinel challenged, and receiving no reply, fired. The crack of his rifle was followed by the agonizing grunts and dying squeals of a stray Southern porker who had yielded up his life for the lost cause.

It may be that accidents of this last type were more frequent than was necessary (there were three pigs killed that night), but vigilance on the part of the guards is always praiseworthy, and the orders against marauding could not apply to such a case, even if the result was a good supply of fresh pork-chops along the picket lines next day.