Civil War Memories

By Linda Zimmermann

The Collected Writings of Sgt. William H. Busbey

Heroic, heartwarming, and humorous true stories from soldiers who fought in America’s greatest Civil War battles.

“A must for everyone interested in the Civil War. This book contains fantastic human interest stories.” Harry Roach, Editor, "Military Images"

“An exciting compilation of vignettes which bring Civil War history alive.”
Alan Aimone, Military History Specialist, USMA Library, West Point

"...wonderful first-hand soldier's accounts...contains a wealth of data on everyday soldier life not to be found elsewhere." Don Troiani, Artist/Historian

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Zimmermann
• Release date: Apr 10, 2011
• ISBN: 9780979900280

Linda Zimmermann

Earning a B.S. in Chemistry and a Master’s in English Literature made it obvious early on that Linda had wide-ranging interests. After working as a research scientist throughout the 1980s, she decided to pursue her real passion—-writing.Today, Linda is the author of over 30 books, is a popular speaker, and has made numerous appearances on television and radio. She has received honors and awards for her books on American history, and has lectured at the Smithsonian, West Point, and Gettysburg. Astronomy and the space program are also favorite topics for her books, articles, and lectures. In addition, Linda has appeared at major science fiction conventions for her science fiction and zombie novels, and is internationally known for her "Ghost Investigator" series of books and UFO books and film.

Book preview

Civil War Memories

The Collected Writings of Sgt. William H. Busbey

Heroic, heartwarming, and humorous true stories from soldiers who fought in America’s greatest battles.

Edited by

Linda Zimmermann

"A must for everyone interested in the Civil War. This book contains fantastic human interest stories." Harry Roach, Editor, Military Images

"An exciting compilation of vignettes which bring Civil War history alive."

Alan Aimone, Military History Specialist, USMA Library, West Point

...wonderful first-hand soldier's accounts...contains a wealth of data on everyday soldier life not to be found elsewhere. Don Troiani, Artist/Historian

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Linda Zimmermann

ISBN: 978-0-9799002-8-0

Eagle Press Printing 1998

This book is available in print at most online retailers.

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Introduction

William H. Busby was born in Vienna, Ohio, to a family of English decent. His ancestors had fought in the Revolutionary War, and when the Civil War began, young Busbey quickly left school to enlist. He joined the 1st Kentucky Regiment of Volunteer Infantry at Springfield, Ohio. In addition to his regular duties, he also acted as a correspondent for several newspapers, reporting a soldier’s-eye view of the war. Although seriously wounded at the Battle of Stones River, which left him with permanent disabilities, he continued with his regiment until his enlistment was up.

After the war, his writing skills secured him a position as private secretary to Ohio Governor Cox (former Union general), as well as to Governor Rutherford B. Hayes (former Union general and future president). Busbey then spent the next thirty years as a journalist. While writing on many subjects, some of his best work was contained in Chicago’s Inter Ocean newspaper. His weekly column, Curbstone Crayons, contained wonderful stories of Anecdotes, Adventures, and Experiences of Soldiers in the War for the Union.

The following collection of Busbey’s original accounts are presented as they were written, including the questionable grammar and spelling (e.g., Stone river, sirup, Kenesaw). I felt that these stories, in themselves, speak to the character and nature of the Civil War soldier with a wonderful personal voice that allows the reader to feel as if he is part of a conversation.

As the original articles were not in any type of order, I did try to arrange them into general categories for those readers who have particular interests.

Table of Contents

The Lighter Side of War

Bravery and Endurance

Wounds

Battles of the Mind

Fathers & Brothers

Artillery

Cavalry & Guerillas

Flags and the Colors

Women

Children

Animals

The Almighty Generals

The Lighter Side of War

As Colonel Jones Would Say

Hard swearing, said the Major, "abounded in the army. Colonel Jones of our brigade was an expert and was held up as a frightful example to the men. Colonel Warrington of the Fifteenth Kansas said a good deal about Colonel Jones and used him to enforce the rule that neither officers nor men in the Fifteenth should swear. For a time the rule was rigidly enforced, Colonel Warrington standing as a shining example of the American officer who did not swear under any provocation.

"Then the rule was broken, and by Colonel Warrington himself. We were in line under heavy artillery fire when a shell or cannon bull struck in a hog wallow near which Colonel Warrington was standing. There was a tremendous splash, and a mass of mud and filth struck Colonel Warrington squarely in the face. Gasping for breath and digging with his hands at his mud-covered eyes and mouth and nose, Colonel Warrington raised his voice and swore as no man in the brigade could swear except Colonel Jones.

He blankety-blanked the rebels who fired the shot, the General who formed his brigade in such a blankety-blanked place. He consigned the mud hole and all mud holes to a hotter place, and roared out the most picturesque profanity until his eyes were clear of mud, and he saw the startled and amused looks on the faces of his men. Then he summed up the case by repeating in order all the swear words he had used and added, ‘as Colonel Jones would say, were he in my place.’ After that the boys would swear at will, but after every oath or outburst would add, ‘as Colonel Jones would say.’

Never Say Never

There was Morgan Smith, said the Captain, "Colonel of the Eighth Missouri, who, like the modern Jacob H. Smith, had a reputation for severity and cruelty, because he was a great swearer and rough in manner. But, as a matter of fact, he was not a cruel man. On his return from the war, his sister said: ‘Morgan, you have a reputation for being a hard swearer.’ He turned and faced her and said in his ordinary soldier tone, ‘That’s a damn lie. I swear very little.’ He could not understand the look of consternation on his sister’s face until she explained that he had sworn at her. He, in turn, explained with great care that he would not swear in the presence of a woman for all the world held in the way of honors, but he did want to say that the man who said he was a hard swearer was a damn liar.

Headaches and Hickory Switches.

Apple-jack, said the Captain, "was the worst liquor a soldier ever drank, and yet I cannot remember that it ever precipitated any riot or serious breach of the rules. When our boys first struck apple and peach brandy in southeastern Kentucky and Tennessee, they knew very little about it. They would prowl about the smokehouses on the farms and fill their canteens with apple-jack and take what they regarded as an ordinary snifter, expecting to be moderately stimulated thereby. But as a rule, they became fool drunk, and after repeated experiments, they looked upon apple-jack as a very bad thing to take in the presence of an enemy.

"Fellows with an appetite would take whiskey in a way to not promote any feeling of general disability, but they never could handle apple-jack in the same way. On the march from Wild Cat mountain to Nashville in October, 1862, the men were on short rations and there was great temptation to drink heavily. But to the credit of the boys it ought to be said that, realizing the danger, they kept themselves well in hand. In traveling through the Union settlements it was not difficult for men who drank to receive information as to where barrels of apple brandy were secreted.

"On one occasion I knew that the stragglers under my immediate command had found a barrel of apple-jack. To my surprise, however, not a single man showed any signs of intoxication during the afternoon’s march. But when we went into camp I noticed there was a good deal of conferring among the men, and I divined that probably a dozen were not in sympathy with the majority. I suspected that there was a scheme afoot, and there was, but it was not of the kind I suspected. The men told six privates, one corporal and a sergeant to stand guard. The others let themselves loose on a regular, old-fashioned spree. Each man had a canteen of apple-jack, and before midnight they were all as drunk as fools, except the eight men on guard.

"These eight men armed themselves with hickory switches, and when the intoxicated men became uproarious and unmanageable they whipped them into subjection. In considerable alarm I interfered and advised against this proceeding, when I was informed by the non-drinkers that this program had been agreed upon by the men who were now in a frenzy of drunkenness. They knew about how they would act, and they had solemnly sworn in the sober contingent to use the switches on them.

"The scenes of that night were beyond description. They were mostly on the frolicsome, ridiculous order. The drunken men labored under the impression that they could walk on fire, and they would rush up to the heap of burning logs with the intention to show that fire could not hurt them. Then the men with the hickory switches would come into action, drive the fire-walkers back into the tall grass, and make them lie down. While they were doing this, another squad would make a raid on the fire, and they would be whipped back, but finally every canteen was empty, every drunken man was asleep, and the next morning the march was resumed with all the men as quiet as if participating in a funeral. I was assured that the resulting headaches were something to remember a lifetime.

All of the sufferers were good soldiers. Only a few of them were habitual drinkers. Many of them never tasted apple-jack after the experience of that night. Two of them are living in Chicago, and one of them, now strictly temperate, has often assured me that he carries the marks of the switchings received that night, and that he remembers distinctly the feeling that came with his third drink that he had been transformed into a hog, and felt impelled to grunt and squeal and take to the woods. He always concludes his story with ‘No more apple-jack for me!’

Under the Chaplain’s Bunk.

One night, said the Captain, "the Colonel was informed that the sutler was selling whisky to the men in cans labeled peaches. He quietly ordered that the quarters be searched and all canned goods confiscated. One of our boys just relieved from headquarters’ guard brought the news to our company, and there was hurrying to and fro in hot haste to hide the canned peaches. It was discovered that our good old chaplain was out of his little cabin, and in a few minutes a dozen or twenty cans of whisky were under the chaplain’s bunk and the officer of the guard failed to find them.

"Just as the boys were congratulating themselves on their narrow escape the chaplain unexpectedly returned to his quarters, and lighting a candle sat down to read his bible. The boys waited and waited for him to go out or go to bed, but still he read. At last he blew out his candle, and waiting a reasonable time, the boys made a reconnaissance in force. They found the old fellow awake and guarding a pile of cans which he had drawn from under his bunk.

The boys scattered, wondering what the chaplain would do next. Later the old fellow jabbed the blade of his heavy knife through the top of every can and conscientiously poured the contents into the sink. The next morning the boys found the empty cans in a little gully up the mountain side. The chaplain never submitted any remarks on the subject and the boys never asked him any questions. But they never hid any more canned goods under his bunk.

Our fellows, said the Sergeant, "brought everything into practical jokes except coffee. Coffee was always coffee and could not be treated lightly. I have seen half a dozen little coffee kettles about one little fire, all under the eye of one man, looking after the interests of comrades who were off after wood or water. But I never knew one of our boys to fail in this sort of guard duty. At the critical juncture every coffee drinker wanted to manage his own kettle and a joke at such a time would have meant a foot race or a fight.

"I have at home the quart tin kettle and two large tin caps which my partner and myself carried in the last year of the war. One of the cups is the regulation government affair and the other a deeper one with a movable handle, through which the belt or haversack trap could be passed. Both have rough dents or scars on the bottom, made in crushing the coffee with the socket end of a bayonet. To the beginner this coffee grinding was a difficult and unsatisfactory operation, but to the old soldiers it was a comforting process which brought most satisfactory results.

"As soon as we bivouacked, one man of each couple built a little fire of chips, twigs or rail splinters and proceeded to grind coffee for two. He measured out carefully so much for each man, put it in a tin cup and proceeded to crush it to the required fineness. At first the noise was like that of pounding, and then it was a sort of unctuous crunching. With three or four hundred bayonets in action the sound was like music to the ears of tired and hungry men, and civilians like B. F. Taylor found poetry in it. In the meantime the other partner came in with kettle and canteens filled with water, and proceeded to cook the meat, while the coffee-grinder cooked the coffee.

In one desperate march, in which we fought at every turn of the road, the men were pushed almost beyond endurance. At last the enemy gave way, but we could see them in the distance forming for resistance. The General, looking over his irregular lines, sat down under a tree almost discouraged. A staff officer who stood at his side said, ‘By George,’ and the General asked, ‘What are the boys doing now?’ The officer replied, ‘They are building fires to make coffee; shall I stop them?’ The General sprang to his feet and said: ‘Thank God for that. There is fight in them yet. Tell them to grind as noisily a they can. It won’t put any heart into the rebs in front of us.

Two-Pair Jack and His Luck – Poker on the Picket Line.

Among the poker players in our regiment, said W. H. Driggs, "was John Steel, familiarly known as 'Two-Pair Jack,' from the fact that in playing he would bet two pair almost as strong as he would a full hand or a flush. Almost invariably he came out of a game winner. Two of the boys he had been scraping right along determined to beat him if possible. Knowing that he would bet on any hand he got all that it was worth, and then more, they procured two decks of cards and fixed one deck to beat Jack.

"They had placed the cards for a four handed game, but there were only three of them to play, and it being just before pay day it was hard to find any one who had money enough to go into a game of their proportions. To complete their game, however, Smith went to a man he knew played, but, who was dead broke. Smith, handing this fellow a twenty-dollar bill, told him to come on and nurse his pile, and should he be a small loser he could pay him back on pay day. The man suspected something was in the wind, but he knew they were not trying to beat him, and he sat in the game.

"The ante was fifty cents come one dollar, or 'one come two.' Going into the tent of Daily, the man in collusion with Smith, they seated themselves at an improvised table, Daily sitting on the bunk. Just opposite sat Smith, his confederate, while 'Two-Pair Jack' sat between the two at the right of Daily, and the borrowed player sat at his left. The game had progressed for some time, and 'Two-Pair Jack' was ahead as usual when, by a prearranged plan, Smith and 'Two-Pair Jack' got into a wrangle about the drawing of cards. At this time, Daily drew from his boot leg the fixed deck and, sliding the old deck beneath the bed cover, dealt the cards.

"In drawing them from his boot, the top cards remained, and this gave 'Two-Pair Jack' the best hand. The borrowed player had put up his 50-cent ante. Smith stayed. 'Two Pair Jack' raised it $2. Daily stayed without lifting his hand, feeling certain that all was right. The ante man made good, and Smith raised $10. 'Two-Pair Jack' made it $20 more, Daily, without again looking at his hand, put up his $30 more. Then the ante man fell out.

'How many cards?' asked Daily. 'One to Smith and one to Jack.' Then Daily picked up his hand for the first time, and when he discovered he held the hand intended for Jack his rage and disgust knew no bounds. Standing up, he tore up some of the cards and threw the remainder away. 'Two-Pair Jack was surprised at Daily's actions, but he threw his hand on the table, displaying three aces and a pair, which by chance he had filled and, raking in the pot, went to his tent quite satisfied with the game, but never dreaming that a fake game had been set for him.

That reminds me, said the Captain, "of Major John Steele of Oberlin. He didn't play cards, but when he went home wounded in 1865 he pretended he did. It came about in this way: The Major was on General Stanley's staff at the battle of Franklin. Both were wounded. Stanley was struck in the back of the neck and Steele in the side. A memorandum book in Steele's breast pocket probably saved his life, as the rebel bullet struck that and was turned aside. But when he went to Oberlin on furlough he told the professors and other friends that the bullet was turned aside by a euchre deck in his breast pocket.

When Steele returned to his regiment some of the boys who knew the Major never played insisted on an explanation. Steele said with a smile: 'I was raised in Oberlin, you know, and I knew what would happen if I admitted that my life was saved by a book. The second man who told the story would leave open the inference that the book was a Testament, and the third man, enlarging upon the incident, would declare that the book was a Testament, and so it would go until the next Sunday the preacher would hold me up as a hero and a model young man whose life was saved because he always carried a Testament. To cut the matter short, I told them my life was saved by a euchre deck. I knew they wouldn't say anything about that.

Card playing, said the Major, "was with many soldiers a passion, and in that form was as difficult to handle as anything in the army. In the first year of the war poker was a demoralizer, because officers and men gave themselves up to it and because there were in nearly every regiment sharpers and gamblers who took advantage of the unsophisticated or of those who played as a relief from the tedium of army life. The sharpers as a rule fell out of the service when the serious business of war opened, but the men who were carried off their feet by poker were numbered by the hundred in every brigade.

"It was almost impossible to enforce discipline in the matter of card playing, because if the Colonel of a regiment was a poker player he sympathized with the men who were poker players, and the latter knew it. So it happened that men evaded camp regulations and played sometimes all night, and played on picket and even in the resting intervals of fighting on the skirmish line. Generals like Rosecrans had small patience with this condition of affairs and did much to remedy the evil. In our regiment, however, an incident of no great moment did more to bring about effective reform than all the General's efforts and orders.

"One day it so happened that half a dozen poker players were thrown together on an advanced post guarding a road through the woods in our division front. The boys knew the enemy was abroad and alert, but it was very quiet there in the woods, and the next picket post was not a hundred yards away. Four of the men decided on a quiet game, leaving two men on watch. The game soon became very interesting, and the men on guard drew nearer and nearer to watch the play. They, as well as the men playing, soon were so absorbed that they lost sight of their surroundings, and when the rebels rushed the post all were made prisoners without firing a shot.

"For a few minutes there was consternation, almost a panic along the line, but the post was reclaimed and the gap closed before the enemy could take advantage of it. The Lieutenant in immediate command, knowing the men, knew how they had been captured. The Captain knew also, as did the Colonel, and all the poker players of the command wore very serious faces. Six good men had been sacrificed, and the regiment bad been put in a very awkward position. That night five of the captured men sneaked inside our lines. They reported that Bluffer, the instigator of the game on the picket post, had inveigled his captors into a game, and when fairly started had given his fellow prisoners a slow motioned wink, which they quickly interpreted, and broke guard, running toward our lines. Bluffer himself remained a prisoner for six months, and when he returned, found a regiment that played poker only when it was safe to play.

A Depressing Experience with Pies - Breaking the Ice After Shiloh

All sorts of trades, said the Captain, "were represented in the old Union army. There were men who could repair watches, who could mend shoes, who could make trousers, who could shoe horses, repair wagons, and run locomotives. I remember on one occasion the General asked all the men in our brigade who knew anything about managing a locomotive to step ten paces to the front. Forty men stepped forward on the instant, and the General, nonplused, said simply: ‘The hell you say. Very well, let me see you fix that old engine down there.’ In half an hour the engine was ready for business.

"The Twentieth Illinois, however, took the prize for novelty in occupations. We had two men, Henry C. Payne and Martin Bechtel, who, after Shiloh, made a medicine of yellow dock and some other roots, which they sold to the natives as a cure-all for ague, malaria, fever, headache; backache, and what they were fond of calling ‘general debility.’ They sent home for bottles, and they sold gallons of this medicine before the boys learned what they were doing. Then they dubbed them ‘doctors,’ and that name clung to them, not only in the army, but after they came home, and the last that I knew of them they were ‘Doctor’ Payne and ‘Doctor’ Bechtel.

"We had some rare old experiences in campaigns after Shiloh. While we were at Britton’s Lane or near Britton’s Lane, at Oustenala ford on the Hatchee river, I went out with fifteen men on an expedition with several objects in mind. One of them was to have some pies baked if we could find any of the native women who knew how to bake pies. We took twenty-five pounds of flour with us, and, coming to a farm on which there was a good-sized orchard, and where we found one man and several women, we left the flour to be made into pies on shares. The women were to furnish the apples and bake the pies, and we were to furnish the flour, and the pies were to be divided equally between the soldiers and the bakers. We left the flour there, and proceeded on our excursion, which was to carry us several miles further, and the pies were to be baked by the time we returned.

"We came back at the time agreed upon, but were informed that the pies were just about ready for the oven. The apples had been pared and sliced, and a tall, slovenly woman was kneading the dough, and, with our mouths watering, we decided to wait until the pies were baked, and take our share with us. We stacked arms, and sat down to watch operations, expecting to enjoy the making of pies down in Tennessee, as we did the making of pies in the old-fashioned kitchens at home.

"We were crazy for pies, and were not squeamish as to methods, but we were not prepared for what came upon us. The oven in which the pies were to be baked was heating in one corner of a huge fireplace. The woman kneading the dough was chewing tobacco, and every two minutes was spitting across her shoulder toward the oven. Every time she spit she would wipe her mouth with the back of her hand and go on mixing pie crust. I looked at the men and they looked expectantly at me. I explained hurriedly that we couldn't wait, and we cut out for camp. That experience almost cured us of the pie habit.

"After the fight at Britton’s Lane our surgeons cared for the rebel wounded as well as our own. One rebel, shot through both legs, was brought to Dr. H. C. Goodbrake, and while the doctor was amputating the legs he recognized the wounded man as one who had visited our camp some days before selling pies. After the operation, the doctor said quietly: ‘How do you sell pies?’ and realizing the full import of the question, the poor fellow begged the doctor not to expose him. The truth was, he had come into camp as a spy, disguised as a countryman selling pies, and the doctor, feeling that his punishment was severe enough, kept his secret.

"At Shiloh, when the men of our division returned Monday night to the tents from which we had been driven Sunday morning we came upon some strange scenes. Dr. Goodbrake went through the hospital tent to the annex, where his stores were kept, and was startled to find there a rebel who had been killed with his hands and mouth full of dried, or evaporated, fruit, taken from the boxes near. Our own Sibley tent had 125 bullet holes in it and the pole had been cut in two by a cannon ball. This shows what a hot fire there was at the very beginning of the battle.

"A great many stories of soldiers’ cruelty were told after Shiloh. One of them was to the effect that the boys had become so calloused, so inured to horrors, that burial parties were careless as to whether the fatally wounded were dead or not before throwing them in the trenches for burial. In one case, it was stated that the men of a burying squad, finding some of the wounded still living, instead of trying to revive the dying men, sat down and played cards until all were dead.

This story had a basis of truth. A squad from our brigade had dug a long trench and placed in it, according to instructions, sixty of the dead, or, rather, fifty-nine bodies had been placed in the row, and covered with blankets, preparatory to the throwing in of dirt, when one of our men in lifting the sixtieth body insisted that there was still life in it. Examination showed that the body was not stiff and cold like the others, and the boys, sending for a surgeon, sat down, some of them to watch and others to play cards, while waiting for the doctor’s report. The man was pronounced dead and the body was placed in line with others, but the fact that some of the members of the burial party played cards at such a time was enlarged upon as evidence of barbarous instincts.

Shiloh, said the Doctor, "was a nightmare to the North. It was our first great battle in the West, and was, in fact, one of the bloodiest battles of the war. So many