PART VIII.

SERVICE IN WASHINGTON AND GEORGETOWN, D.C., 1861-1862.

When I awoke on my first morning in Washington, I hastened out of doors to have a look around. The first prominent object I saw was the great white capitol building, the steel ribs of its unfinished dome strongly outlined against a clear sky. I took a long look at everything in view and then answered roll-call and had breakfast in the "Soldiers' Rest," after which we formed ranks in the street, where we "stacked arms" and waited for orders, watching meanwhile the arrival of some volunteer troops who had just come in on the cars and marched into the "Soldiers' Rest." Troops were beginning to arrive daily in large numbers in response to the President's call for "four hundred thousand more." About ten o'clock in the forenoon we received orders to "fall in" and the four companies separated, being sent to quarters in different parts of the city.

My company marched up Pennsylvania Avenue toward the White House. On the way some ladies presented each man with a Havelock, which is a cover for the forage cap and was made of white muslin and with a hood to protect the back of the head and neck from the sun's rays. They had been much worn by English soldiers in India during Major-General Sir Henry Havelock's time, and looked very fine when an entire regiment wore them on parade; but in less than a year their use was abandoned, as they were too conspicuous and kept the air from our necks. Our march ended at a house on the north side of K, near Eighteenth Street, which was to be our quarters. It was a three-story and basement private dwelling of the usual type and was devoid of any furniture. It belonged to a secessionist and, like a number of others, had been taken charge of by the Government. We drew rations and did our cooking in the basement and used the upper floors for sleeping, at night spreading our blankets on the bare floor. We had only light duties to perform, which left us plenty of time to wander about the city, visit the capitol and other public buildings. Only the principal streets in Washington were paved at this time, the remainder were mud roads rendered almost impassable in rainy weather by the artillery and army wagons.

It was the first week in August; most of the three-months' warriors had left for their homes and order was being restored. The streets were patrolled by regulars and all soldiers found in the city without permission were arrested, taken to a central guard-house and then returned to their respective commands. General George B. McClellan had been called to Washington immediately after the battle of Bull Run and placed in command of the Army of the Potomac. He was busy with his staff in organizing a great army. Our quarters being but a short distance from the headquarters of General McClellan, I had frequent opportunities of seeing him there and also riding through the streets, followed by a brilliant staff, among whom were a number of foreign officers in showy uniforms adorned with decorations and much gold lace. I also saw President Lincoln on the avenue a few times and saw his boys in Zouave uniforms "playing soldier" with some companions on the lawn in front of the White House.

There were probably not more than fifty thousand troops in and about Washington upon our arrival, but they soon began to come in at a rate of forty thousand a month, so that by the first of November, 1861, the numbers had reached one hundred and seventy thousand. They were young men who enlisted for three years or the duration of the war; they were patriotic and earnest and were not tempted to enlist by the payment of bounties. These soldiers became the flower of the Army of the Potomac and, I think, were not equaled by any subsequent levies.

A thousand regular soldiers had preceded our small command to Washington and about eight hundred of them had been in the engagement at Bull Run, including some marines. Among them were also the two companies of our regiment previously mentioned. From them we learned many details of what occurred on that disastrous day. This small body of eight hundred regulars and marines were unaffected by the panic and covered the retreat of the Federal Army. Many of the regulars were quartered near the then outskirts of the city on the north side in hastily constructed wooden buildings, which were called Kalorama Barracks. There were at that time six companies of my regiment in Washington, also the regiment headquarters and the band. Four other companies were with the western armies and remained there throughout the war. During my entire ten years' service I never saw more than six companies of the regiment together at one time.

After a stay of about two weeks in the K Street house in Washington my company (D) and Company A were ordered to Georgetown and quartered in Forrest Hall, a large sized building on the corner of what were then called High and Gay Streets. This building is still standing at this date (1913). There was a large entertainment hall on the second floor with a raised stage at one end and many wooden benches on the floor. Company A occupied this apartment, while my company took the third floor, which was divided into rooms. We slept on the bare floors, as we had done in K Street, but had the additional comfort of some of the wooden benches to sit on. The first floor was used for a guard-house with a large room for prisoners brought in by the patrols; the basement, which had an alley on the rear leading out into Gay Street, was used for our kitchen.

On the hot day that we moved into this building a severe thunderstorm broke out in the afternoon and the rain fell in torrents. We thought this a good opportunity to get a refreshing bath, and as the high roof of the building could not be overlooked from any of the houses in the neighborhood, a number of us took off our clothing and ascended to the roof and remained there until the storm was over; later on we took our baths in Rock Creek and our swims in the Potomac above the Aqueduct Bridge.

It was the custom then in the regular army for every private soldier to serve a term of two weeks as company cook. There were two cooks to each company, a head cook and an assistant. After serving as assistant for a week, one then became chef, unless the chef was satisfactory and desired to remain longer. It often happened that both of the cooks remained for months; they got no extra pay, but were relieved from all other duties and had some perquisites in selling soap-grease, if there was a market for it. It was my hard luck to be detailed as assistant cook after we arrived at Forrest Hall, much to my disgust. After a week's service I was declared to be a failure and returned to company duty.

A few days later a vacancy occurred and I was promoted to corporal with two dollars per month additional pay, making fifteen dollars per month, for the pay of the army had been raised from eleven to thirteen dollars per month for a private soldier. About this time we received four months' pay in greenbacks with coupons attached to the larger notes--the ten and twenty dollar bills, I think. Heretofore we had always been paid in gold and silver.

We were busy while in Georgetown; we kept a main guard with a sergeant at the hall in charge of the prisoners, a corporal and six privates at the Aqueduct Bridge, and the same at the foot of High Street, where there was a flat-boat rope ferry to Analostan Island in the Potomac opposite Georgetown. The two companies in Georgetown did not have their full complement of men; some had been detailed as clerks in the War Department, and others as orderlies at army headquarters on "extra duty," as it was called. This made us somewhat short on the "present for duty" number and caused a tour of twenty-four hours on guard every three days or less. We also did considerable drilling in company and skirmish drills, sometimes brigade drills and a few reviews for General McClellan and staff. We had to patrol the streets of Georgetown from eight A.M. till ten P.M. for two hours on and two off. The patrol was a squad of eight privates under a sergeant or a corporal, often accompanied by an officer in the daytime. This patrol had authority to enter saloons and other places and search them for soldiers and demand their passes; every soldier on the street was halted, and if he had no pass or a poor excuse he was told to fall into the ranks and march with the patrol until it repassed or returned to the main guard, where he was turned over to the sergeant, who recorded his name, company and regiment and then locked him up. There was, however, considerable leniency both on the part of the officers and the non-commissioned officers in command of the patrol; if the soldier were sober and had some sort of a plausible excuse, he was often simply ordered to get out of town quickly and return to his camp. It was the drunks that gave us trouble, when we tried to march them in the ranks. In some extreme cases we took them to the guard-house in a borrowed hand-cart. One day the patrol arrived just in time to save the "Eagle Bakery," where a drunken soldier was wrecking the place because he failed to get a baked eagle he had ordered.

About this time a very young officer named William Kidd, who belonged to a prominent New York family, joined my company as second lieutenant. He was a civil appointee and knew very little about drill or military matters in general, but was trying to learn. He was well liked by the men for his genial nature. Often when I was on patrol with him he would say, "Now, Corporal, you head her in any direction you like and don't march too fast." He let many a soldier off with a reprimand such as, "If I catch you in town again without a pass I'll have you court-martialed and shot before sunrise." Sometimes he stopped at a cigar store and bought cigars for the patrol, which he handed to us when we were dismissed. Lieutenant Kidd, to our great regret and sorrow, was killed in less than a year at the second battle of Bull Run.

One evening I received word from a friend, a sergeant of a New York regiment which was encamped a short distance from Georgetown on the Tennalytown road that he had been arrested by the patrol and wished me to try and have him released so that he might return to his camp that night, as he feared that if he was returned to his regiment from the central guard-house it would mean the loss of his sergeant's stripes and reduction to the ranks. I implored the sergeant of our main guard to release him, but he refused as he had just reported the number of his prisoners to the officer of the day. He agreed, however, to make an exchange with me if I brought him another prisoner when I went out on patrol from eight to ten that evening. I started out with my squad at the appointed time. It was a stormy night, the wind howled and the rain beat fiercely upon us; the streets seemed deserted and there were no soldiers in sight. Instead of resting at times in a sheltered place, as we were accustomed to do in bad weather, I kept my patrol moving and visited most of the places where soldiers were in the habit of congregating, despite the grumbling of my squad. Our time was nearly up and I had encountered but two or three soldiers, whom I could not arrest as they showed me passes. I was in despair, when suddenly, while passing along Bridge Street on our return to the guard-house, I caught a glimpse of a blue uniform in the back room of a saloon, through a partly opened door. I halted my squad and went into the saloon, where I found a soldier asleep on a chair. I shook him and demanded to see his pass. He was mildly inebriated, but managed to explain that he was on duty as a nurse in the hospital close by and did not require a pass in Georgetown, but not having a pass was enough for me. I took him out, put him into the ranks and turned him over to the sergeant of the guard in exchange for my friend, who hurried off to his camp. The man I arrested was soon released by the sergeant when he satisfied him as to the truth of his story.

Every morning at eight o'clock when the guard was relieved, the old guard was obliged to take the prisoners picked up during the twenty-four hours and march them to the Central Guard-House in Washington, situated just off Pennsylvania Avenue near the market. This was a long and tiresome tramp after a night on guard. We often had a couple of dozen prisoners, some of them unruly and others scarcely able to march after their spree. After our return from the Central guard-house the old guard was excused from duty and rested until retreat that evening. The men whom we arrested in the streets were volunteer soldiers, almost without exception, from the different camps about Washington.

Occasionally I was corporal of the main guard at Forrest Hall and was surprised to observe the effect of drink on the prisoners at different times. They were all locked up together in one large room with a sentinel outside of the door. The prisoners from our own command, when we had any, were confined in a smaller room. In the large room the prisoners were sometimes hilarious and noisy with laughter, while at other times they were sad and melancholy, many of them crying for "home and mother," and others shedding silent tears. At still other times they seemed to have imbibed fighting whiskey and were quarrelsome, fighting fiercely among themselves or against the guard who had to go in and separate them; some we could only subdue by tying their limbs. It was a job we did not relish. Some of them threw bottles at the guards and other objects which had escaped the sergeant's search at the time of their admission.

Our two companies had the free run of Georgetown to go where we pleased when not on duty, but if we crossed the Rock Creek bridge and went into Washington without a pass, we were in turn liable to be arrested by the provost-guard's patrol and put into the Central guard-house. We were well posted on the time and route of the patrols and knew how to elude them.

Another of our duties was to furnish an escort to the cemetery for all the soldiers who died in what was called the Seminary Hospital located at Georgetown. The cemetery was in the grounds of the Soldiers' Home, a long way from Georgetown, a very tiresome march over a poor road. At these funerals there was no music or ceremony of any kind; no one but the escort of eight privates and a corporal marched with the ambulance which carried the corpse. On the arrival at the cemetery we found only grave-diggers constantly busy digging graves for the many soldiers who died in the hospitals or camps in or about Washington. The coffin was unloaded and left on the ground beside the grave to await the leisure of the grave-diggers; the escort fired the three customary rounds of blank cartridges over the coffin and hurried away. At some distance from the cemetery, where the road was lonely, we climbed into the ambulance and rode to the outskirts of Georgetown. During the winter when the weather was bad and the mud ankle-deep on the road, the escort took their chances and halted the ambulance near a road-house about half-way, fired the three rounds and waited at the road-house playing cards until the driver, whom they bound to secrecy, passed on his return. This went on for some time until one day a firing squad was discovered at it and punished.

Towards the close of 1861 many changes had taken place among the officers of my regiment. Aside from the few who had resigned to join the Confederate army, nearly all were advanced in rank; colonels and majors and some captains became brigadier-generals or colonels of volunteers. The twelve new regiments added to the regular army absorbed many of our captains and first lieutenants who gained a step in rank by the transfer. The lower grades were filled mainly by civilian appointments, many of them through influence more than any adaptability for a military life, as was demonstrated later on. The Government began to make some appointments from the ranks and later on increased them. These men, appointed from the ranks, as a rule made efficient and reliable officers, whom the rank and file could respect. Dixon S. Miles became colonel of my regiment and remained so until he was killed at Harper's Ferry in 1862, but we never saw him, as he had a higher volunteer rank. All of our former field officers were promoted and replaced by others, some of whom we never saw. The regular army, small in numbers, was stripped of many of its best officers. All through the war, companies were largely in command of first lieutenants and regiments were often commanded by senior captains. My company was particularly unfortunate at this time in having for its captain, and serving with it, the lieutenant who had joined the regiment in 1857 at Fort Randall whom we had dubbed our "Alcoholic Lieutenant," and whose name I withhold because I cannot say anything to his credit. He had gained the rank of captain by seniority because of the general promotions at this time. Our first lieutenant was William H. Jordan of the Ninth Infantry, who had never as yet seen his own regiment in the West since he left West Point in 1860. He was an estimable officer, who remained with my company until he was severely wounded at the battle of Gaines' Mill in 1862. Our second lieutenant was William Kidd, who was killed in battle, as previously mentioned. Major William Chapman was in command of the six companies of my regiment in Washington at this time; he was well along in years and retired early in the war. He was a good disciplinarian and an excellent drillmaster.

In the late fall of 1861 the regular troops in Washington, old and new regiments, had been augmented to nearly three thousand and were formed into a brigade under the command of Major George Sykes of the Fourteenth Infantry, who held the rank of brigadier-general of volunteers and later on became a major-general. I think he was one of the best tacticians in the army and a very capable officer. He drilled the brigade in line of battle manoeuvres occasionally on a large field near the Kalorama Barracks. We made a fine appearance in full uniform, marching down Pennsylvania Avenue and out Seventh Street to the drill ground, with our bands playing and colors flying. I liked this parade and drill; when we turned the corner of Fifteenth Street and I looked down the avenue and saw a great mass of bayonets glittering in the sun ahead of me it was impressive--a sight I had never witnessed in my previous service. Major Chapman, who commanded our battalions, never made an error in executing General Sykes's commands in these brigade drills, but, alas! some of the new fledglings of first lieutenants in command of companies often got tangled up; this angered the major and caused him to say sharply, "Mr. Long, face your company to the front! Mr. Freeman, bring your company on the right by file into line! Mr. Goodrich, you are obliquing your company to the left instead of to the right," etc., all of which was very annoying to me, for it destroyed the movements of other companies and hurt the pride I always had in marching and drilling correctly. Our first sergeants were able to coach the inexperienced officers and did so quietly on parade. Fortunately for my company, our captain never appeared at brigade drills and Lieutenant Jordan put us through our paces very creditably. The brigade drills ended with a "Pass in review!" before General Sykes and his aides-de-camp. This movement was often executed in "double quick time," which gave rise to a story that the general made us double quick because his little daughter used to say to him, "Pa, make 'em twot!" which amused her greatly. The general lived with his family in a house overlooking the parade ground where they could see all the manoeuvres of the troops. We were also reviewed on the same parade ground by General McClellan and staff, but upon that occasion did not have to _trot_.

I was often on guard at the Aqueduct Bridge and at the Ferry and liked that duty much better than guarding prisoners. The Chesapeake and Ohio canal crossed the Potomac river here on its way to Alexandria, Virginia, by means of the Aqueduct Bridge. At the breaking out of the war the water had been shut off and the bridge solidly planked over to serve as a roadway for pedestrians and vehicles. A small guard room had been built for the shelter of the six men and corporal composing the guard on the Georgetown side. A sentinel was stationed on each side of the entrance to the bridge. Our orders were to permit no soldier to pass or repass the bridge without a properly signed and countersigned pass, and no civilian without a pass from the provost-marshal's office in Washington. Officers unaccompanied by troops were also to show passes, except those of high rank who were supposed to be known to us.

We were also to search for and to prevent the smuggling of liquor to the soldiers encamped on the opposite side of the river; but I am afraid we were somewhat lax in carrying out that part of our orders, as we did not like to act as customhouse inspectors, considering that unmilitary. If the person halted carried a package or basket we generally took his or her word for it that it contained no liquor and passed them on without examination, except in cases of inebriety or when they were insolent to the guard.

I think women did more smuggling of liquor than the men. Many got passes from the provost-marshal to visit their soldier relatives or friends encamped on the other side of the river. They generally came on foot and carried baskets or packages containing food and articles of clothing for the soldiers, as they invariably informed the guard, and some became indignant when they were asked the usual question about liquor. One day as I was examining the pass of a large, good-natured-looking woman with a fine broad smile, I heard a tinkling sound with every movement she made and noticed that she wore unusually large hoop skirts which made her look like an animated haystack from the waist down. I asked her if she carried any liquor about her and was met by an emphatic denial. I put my hand on her waist and gave the skirt a shake which caused an audible jingle of bottles, and asked her, "What's that, Mama?" "Whisth! Sergeant, dear, shure it's sody-wather for the bys!" she said laughingly. I was in a dilemma. She evidently had bottles of liquor strung all around her waist beneath the large hoops she wore; but I could not take them from her without undressing her, which was inconvenient at the time and place; besides it was such a clever trick that it deserved success, and I let her pass.

Some sutlers had permits to carry liquor for officers' messes in their wagons; others carried barrels which they declared contained beer or cider, which we were allowed to pass, as we had no means of testing it anyway.

We got to know many of the sutlers by sight; their wagons bore the regimental designation to which they belonged and, as we knew they had passes, we did not always halt them. Occasionally some of them tossed a package to the guards containing cigars, tobacco, crackers and cheese or a can of preserved fruit. The sentinels halted every passenger and vehicle, with this exception, looked at the pass and in cases of doubt called on the corporal of the guard for his decision of the case.

Sometimes General McClellan, who, since General Scott's retirement, was commander-in-chief of the United States Army, passed over the bridge with his staff to review troops or examine defences on the other side. It was here that I first saw the Orleans princes, the Duc de Chartres and the Comte de Paris, who were aides on his staff. The Duc was a very young looking man.

The Fourteenth New York Volunteers, better known as Colonel Fowler's Fourteenth Brooklyn Regiment, were encamped on Arlington Heights and guarded the Virginia end of the bridge. We became acquainted with many of them and were on friendly terms, often letting some of them pass into Georgetown at night, cautioning them to look sharply for the officer of the day on their return.

When my guard was relieved in the morning, we discharged our rifles into the river, firing at some floating object, instead of drawing the charges; sometimes I threw an empty bottle into the river and frequently knocked off the neck with a ball from my rifle.

While on guard at the bridge I had many opportunities to observe the uniforms, arms and equipments of the volunteer soldiers who crossed and went into camp on the other side. A few of the regiments were armed with Springfield rifles, as we were, but the greater part of them had arms of foreign manufacture; there were English rifles, Belgian and Austrian muskets and even some of the old "smooth-bores" of the Mexican War time, which the traitor, Secretary of War Floyd, had not deemed worthy of removal from the Northern arsenals. The Government had hastily purchased these arms abroad and as all the calibres differed, serious confusion resulted sometimes through issuing the wrong ammunition. It was more than a year before there was anything like uniformity in the arms of the infantry regiments. Their uniforms were also diversified; many still wore the gray uniforms issued to them by the states they came from; some had a sort of German uniform; and the Garibaldi Guard, an Italian one; the Fifty-fifth New York Volunteers, Colonel De Trobriand, wore a distinctly French uniform, including the red breeches and "kepi." Another distinct uniform was that of the Chasseurs d'Afrique, and there were others; also a number of Zouave regiments, some with red breeches and some with blue, some wearing white turbans and some only a red Fez cap on their heads. In the course of a long time this was remedied and all wore the regulation uniform, except some of the Zouave regiments, who were permitted to retain theirs to the end of their term of service. In the month of September at Fall's Church, Virginia, one of our gray uniformed regiments was fired into by another of our regiments who mistook them for "graybacks" (rebels) and sixty or so were killed and wounded before the mistake was discovered. Lamentable errors like this occurred in various parts of the country at this time.

The neatness of the uniforms, the polished buttons and the bright looking arms of the regular soldiers was often a matter of interest to the volunteer officers. One day while on guard an elderly captain, who unquestionably hailed from one of the New England states, said to me, "Where be you men from? I see you all got brand new guns!" I explained to him that we were regular soldiers and had used these guns on the frontiers for years. He exclaimed, "Dew tell! Our boys got new guns but they're all rusty. What do you clean yours with?"

In October happened the unfortunate engagement with the Confederates at Ball's Bluff, some distance up the Potomac, where Colonel Baker was killed, and we lost nearly a thousand men--killed, wounded and prisoners; also by drowning. After the battle corpses floated down the river, some of them being washed ashore at Georgetown.

We preferred to do guard duty at the ferry to Analostan Island at the foot of High Street because it was easy, as it took the rope ferry boat a good while to make a trip and the traffic was small. This spot was the landing place for fishing boats and small sloops which brought oysters and vegetables to the Georgetown market from down the river. The watermelon season was still on and sloops came in loaded with them. We watched the boats for the owners at night and in return they gave the guard all the melons they could eat, and they were delicious. It was the same later on with oysters; and last came the sweet potatoes, the real Virginia or Maryland sweet potatoes, which we roasted and feasted on.

One day when I was corporal of the guard at the ferry, the sentinel called out, "Turn out the guard for the commanding general!" and immediately the general replied, "Never mind the guard!" He did not seem to care for my little command of six men. General McClellan was in a carriage along with his chief of staff, General Randolph B. Marcy, his father-in-law, but without any escort. Although I knew them both, I went to the side of the carriage, saluted and said, "Passes, gentlemen?" to which the General, returning the salute, replied, "I am the commanding general." I said, "Pass on, General," which ended the only conversation I had with him during the war. The General had to wait for about ten minutes before the carriage could be driven on the boat. During that time I could observe him closely, while he conversed earnestly with General Marcy.

A miserable looking tramp passed our little guard-house at the ferry one day and seeing a pair of old buckskin gloves belonging to me, which I had left on a bench outside, promptly appropriated them. The sentinel saw him and called me. He ran, but I caught him, took the gloves from him and was about to give him a kick and let him go, when one of the town constables came up and insisted on arresting the man. Since the town had been policed by the soldiers, the few constables had had little to do and had grown rusty. This one seemed glad to have a case and would not let his prisoner go, although I entreated him to do so as the old gloves had no value. Next day I received a subpoena to appear as a witness at the court house at Four-and-a-half Street in Washington the following morning, and with the subpoena I was handed a dollar and a half, which was a godsend to me, as I hadn't another cent at the time. I blessed that tramp! I was provided with a pass for all day, gave my evidence in court and heard the poor tramp sentenced to thirty days in the workhouse; then I started in to regale myself royally on the dollar-fifty. I had an oyster fry at Harvey's on the avenue, and something to drink and smoke. I spent the afternoon in the streets and I fear I was rather more extravagant than a man in my company who sometimes said, "Give me two cigars for five cents. I'm on a spree and don't care how I spend my money."

My captain resided with his family in a house on Bridge Street; the unmarried officers boarded around town; the married soldiers had located their wives and children in cheap apartments where some of them remained to the end of the war. Some wives never saw their husbands again after we went into Virginia. The captain in his capacity of commanding officer sometimes visited the guard late at night and had it turned out for him and put us through the usual formalities. I was always thankful that he omitted the inspection of arms, for at times I would have hated to trust him with the handling of a loaded gun. He sent for me occasionally to report to him at his house and when I appeared he put me through a kind of catechism commencing with, "Who made you a corporal?"

"The captain," I replied.

"Why did I make you a corporal?"

To which my answer was, "Because I was in the line of promotion, I presume."

"No! because I then believed you to be a good and reliable soldier. I see by the guard report that you were corporal of the guard at the ferry on Tuesday night when a lot of common soldiers were drinking in a saloon on Cherry Street and wrecked the place. Why didn't you go there and arrest them?"

"I could not hear the disturbance, it was too far away; besides, the regulations for the army forbid my leaving the guard without orders."

"I am the provost-marshal of this town and I make the regulations. Don't let this happen again. I will not allow any more common soldiers to go into saloons and will issue an order to that effect. Remember, I can break you. Go back to your quarters!"

He never issued that order--he couldn't; neither did he break me, although he used to send for me if there was any scrape in town; no matter if I didn't have the remotest connection with it, he suspected I was concerned in it.

A tragedy happened while we were quartered in Forrest Hall. A soldier of Company A was on post No. 2 on the Gay Street side of the building one winter night when Sergeant Brennan of his company, who was the sergeant of the main guard that night, went out of the guard-room and passed around the corner of the building towards sentinel No. 2. In a few minutes a shot was heard, and some of the guard running out found Sergeant Brennan on the sidewalk, dead, with a bullet through his heart, while the sentinel, with his gun in his hands, calmly stood there awaiting arrest. What transpired between them during the few minutes they were alone never became known. The soldier admitted shooting the sergeant, but made no explanation. It was well known, however, that there was a bitter enmity between them dating back to the time when they were on the frontier service. The body was carried up into the Hall and laid out on some benches on the second floor among the sergeant's sleeping comrades. A screen was erected around the body next morning and some nuns from Georgetown watched and prayed by it, until the next day when the funeral services were held in the Catholic church. The murderer was incarcerated in Washington and was speedily tried by a general court-martial which sentenced him to be hanged. A few weeks after the tragedy the entire regular brigade marched to a field on the north side where many of the finest houses are now built and formed a square about an elevated gallows which had a flight of steps leading up to the platform. The hangman (a soldier) was there adjusting and soaping the rope. Presently the prisoner arrived in a closed carriage, accompanied by a priest and a cavalry guard. The culprit mounted the steps unassisted, and when he reached the platform he stood erect, waved his right hand and exclaimed in a firm voice, "Good-bye, soldiers! Good-bye!" His limbs were quickly bound and a black cap drawn over his face; the trap was sprung and we saw the contortions of the lower part of his body. In a few minutes his struggles ceased and the soldiers marched silently back to their quarters.

We found the winter climate of Washington mild and agreeable, as compared with our experience in Nebraska and Dakota Territories. Our food was fairly good. We drew bread from the Government bakeries; fresh beef was issued to us at the foot of the unfinished Washington Monument, where all the beef cattle for the troops in or about Washington were slaughtered. Other provisions we drew from the general commissary depot.

During our stay of about five months in Georgetown we had become well acquainted with every nook and corner of it and got along well with such of the citizens as were not Southern sympathizers. At some of the houses to which we had been invited we played games with the girls. At one house in particular where a few friends and I called for a while I flattered myself that I was the daughter's favorite visitor; but, alas! "fair and false was she!" for she placed her young affections on a drummer of the band whose more gaudy uniform seemed irresistible to her.

About the end of January, 1862, my company was ordered to leave Forrest Hall and occupy a vacant two-story and attic house on Pennsylvania Avenue between Eighteenth and Nineteenth Streets, facing a small triangular shaped park. This house is still standing (1913) and is now numbered 1806. We lived there as we did in the K Street house. Our duties were much easier than in Georgetown; the only guard duty we had was one post in front of our own quarters. We picked up a few recruits in Washington and I had to drill them sometimes in the little park, to my chagrin and much to the amusement of the spectators, as one of them named Davis was as awkward a man as I ever tried to instruct.

Since the battle of Bull Run, the preceding July, the Army of the Potomac had been assiduous in drill and had gained much in discipline under that admirable organizer, General McClellan, all except the volunteer cavalry regiments. Many of the men could not ride horses when they were enlisted. The horses were untrained and were as green as their riders. In a few slight skirmishes with the enemy on reconnaissances the horses ran away at the first fire, in spite of the efforts of the troopers to make a stand. It was a standing joke in the army at that time that there was a reward of five dollars for any soldier who had seen a dead cavalryman. It takes a long time to drill cavalrymen and horses. It was not until after the second year of the war that they became really effective and after that they did splendid service.

The Northern papers were clamorous for the Army of the Potomac to make a move on the enemy. "Why doesn't the army move?" was the cry. In the West there had been some success; General U.S. Grant had captured Fort Donaldson, Tennessee, together with Generals Buckner and Tilghman and thirteen thousand prisoners. President Lincoln, impatient at General McClellan's delay and unwilling to agree to the General's plan of a campaign, appointed February twenty-second as the day for a general movement of all the land and naval forces; but nothing was done. We observed the day by hanging out a flag and by burning a lot of candles in the front windows of our quarters at night. We were tired of garrison duty and wanted to see some field service. Up to this time the small regular army had had but little representation in any of the conflicts and no share in what little glory there had been. All seemed eager for real service, even the man in my company who used to declare that he "enlisted to fight but was not quarrelsome."

We knew that a campaign of some sort would soon take place and began to prepare for it. All of our fancy uniforms and articles of no service in the field were packed into cases, turned over to the quartermaster's department and placed in storage in the then unfinished Corcoran Art Gallery, situated on Pennsylvania Avenue near our quarters, and none of us ever saw them again. Shelter tents were issued to us. They were an imitation of the "tent d'Abri" used in the French army and consisted of a piece of thin canvas supposed to be rain-proof. It was about six and a half by five feet and had buttons and buttonholes along the edges, so that two or more pieces could be joined together and stretched across a ridge pole supported on two posts, and the sides fastened to tent-pins driven into the ground. This formed a small A-shaped tent, a "pup-tent," as the soldiers called it, but was open at the front and back. Generally three men got together and used the third piece of canvas to cover one of the open ends--the one to windward. The little tents were so low it was necessary to crawl into them on hands and knees and we could barely retain a sitting posture. Tent and ridge-poles of light wood, made to telescope in convenient lengths, and small hardwood tent-pins were also issued to us. All this had to be strapped to our knapsack and increased the load to be carried on our back very considerably. The poles and pins we threw away after a few days' trial in the field and trusted to chance to pick up forked sticks and ridge-poles in the woods. For this purpose I provided myself with a small hatchet, and to even up loads my bunkie carried a frying pan for our use.

On March eighth Centreville was discovered to have been evacuated by the Rebels. Painted logs (Quaker guns) were found mounted in the enemies' earthworks. Manassas was also found to be evacuated; at last the Army of the Potomac was forced to move. General McClellan was relieved from the supreme command of the United States Army and appointed to command the Army of the Potomac. We received orders to cross the Potomac into Virginia. The six companies, headed by the band, formed on Pennsylvania Avenue in the forenoon of the tenth of March and marched to the "Long Bridge" by way of Fourteenth Street, after more than seven months in Washington and Georgetown. The day was clear but cold. It was my hard luck to be corporal of the guard bringing up the rear of the column with a few prisoners and some drunks who had been unable to resist the temptation of a final debauch. I had some trouble to keep them from frolicking with the negro wenches who had lined up on the sidewalks in large numbers to hear the band play and see us marching off. The captain, much to our satisfaction, did not accompany us. He managed to get a medical certificate excusing him from field service and remained in Georgetown on easy duty.