CHAPTER XIX.

"WENT DOWN TO JERICHO AND FELL AMONG THIEVES."

On the morning of May 23d, 1864, after a good and refreshing sleep, we took up the line of march and moved rapidly all day in a southerly direction, "straight for Richmond," according to our somewhat bewildered conception of the geography of those parts. With the exception of an occasional skirmish and some heavy cannonading away along the horizon, we had seen and heard but little of the enemy for several days. Where he was we did not know. We only hoped that, after the terrible fighting of the last two weeks, commencing at the Wilderness on the 5th, he had had enough of it and had taken to his heels and run away--

"Away down South in Dixie's land, Away, away,"

and that we should never again see anything of him but his back. Alas! for the presumption. And alas! for the presumption of the innumerable company and fellowship of cooks, camp-followers, and mule-drivers, who, emboldened by the quietude of the last few days, had ventured to come up from the rear, and had joined each his respective regiment, and were marching along bravely enough, as on the evening of this same May 23d we approached North Anna River, which we were to cross at a place called Jericho Ford. As we came near to the river, we found the supply and ammunition-trains "parked" to the rear of a wood a short distance from Jericho, so that as we halted for a while in the edge of the woods nearest to the stream, everything wore so quiet and unsuspicious a look, that no one dreamed of the enemy being anywhere near at hand. Under the impression that we should probably halt there for the night, I gathered up a number of the boys' canteens and started out in search of water, taking my course toward an open meadow which lay to the right and close to the river's edge. There was a cornfield off to the left, across which I could see the troops leisurely marching in the direction of the bridge. As I stooped down to fill my canteens, another man came up on the same errand as had brought me there. From where I was, I could see the bridge full of troops and the general rabble of camp followers carelessly crossing. But scarcely had I more than half filled my first canteen, when the enemy, lying concealed in the woods on the other side of the river, opened fire.

Boom! Bang! Whir-r-r! Chu-ck!

"Hello!" said I to my companion, "the ball is going to open!"

"Yes," answered he with a drawl and a certain supercilious look, as if to intimate that few besides himself had ever heard a shell crack before--"Yes; but when you have heard as many shells busting about your head as I have"--

Whir-r-r! Chu-ck! I could hear the terrific shriek of the shell overhead, and the sharp _thud_ of the pieces as they tore up the meadow sod to the right and left of us; whereupon my brave and boastful friend, leaving his sentence to be completed and his canteens to be filled some other day, cut for the rear at full speed, ducking his head as he went. Finding an old gateway near by, with high stone posts on either side, I took refuge there; and feeling tolerably safe behind my tall defence, turned about and looked toward the river. It is said that there is but a step from the sublime to the ridiculous; and surely laughable indeed was the scene which greeted my eyes. Everything was in confusion, and all was helter-skelter, skurry, and skedaddle. There was the bridge in open view, full of a struggling mass of men, horses, and mules,--the troops trying to force their way over to the other side, and the yelling crowd of camp-followers equally bent on forcing their way back; some jumping or being tumbled off the bridge, while others were swept, _nolens volens_, over to the other side, and there began to plunge into the dirty ooze of the stream, with the evident intention of getting on the safe side of things as speedily as possible, while all the time the shells flew shrieking and screaming through the air as though the demons had been let loose. Between me and the river was a last year's cornfield, over which the rabble now came swift and full, fear furnishing wings to flight,--and happy indeed was he who had no mule to take care of! One poor fellow who had had his mule heavily laden with camp equipage when he crossed over, was now making for the rear with his mule at a full trot, but in sad plight himself; for he was hatless, covered with mud, and quite out of breath, had lost saddle, bag, and baggage, and had nothing left but himself, the mule, and the halter. Another immediately in front of me had come on well enough until he arrived in the middle of the open field, where the shells were falling rather thick, when his mule took it into his head that flight was disgraceful, and that he would retreat no farther,--no, not an inch. There he stood like a rock, the poor driver pulling at his halter and frantically kicking the beast in the ribs, but all to no avail; while all around him, and past him, swept the crowd of his fellow cooks and coffee-coolers in full flight for the rear.

As soon as the firing began to cease a little, I started off for the regiment, which had meanwhile changed position. In searching for it, I passed the forage and ammunition-trains, which were parked to the rear of the woods, and within easy range of the enemy's guns,--which latter fact the enemy, fortunately, did not know. One who has not actually seen them can scarcely form any adequate idea of the vast numbers of white-covered wagons which followed our armies, carrying food, forage, and ammunition; nor can any one who has not actually witnessed a panic among the drivers of these wagons, form any conception of the terror into which they were sometimes thrown. The drivers of the ammunition-wagons were especially anxious to keep well out of range of shells,--and no wonder! For if a shot from the enemy's guns were to fall amongst a lot of wagons laden with percussion shells, the result may perhaps be imagined. It was no wonder, therefore, that the driver of an ammunition-wagon, with six mules in front of him and several tons of death and destruction behind him, felt somewhat nervous when he heard the whirr of the shells over the tops of the pines.

In searching for the regiment I passed one of these trains. A commissary sergeant was dealing out forage to his men, who were standing around him in a circle, each holding open a bag for his oats, which the commissary was alternately dealing out to them with a bucket,--a bucketful to this man, then to the next, and so on around the circle. It was plain, however, to any observer that he was more concerned about the shells than interested in the oats, for he dodged his head every time a shell cracked, which happened just about the time he was in the act of pouring a bucketful of oats into a bag.

While I was looking at them, Page, a Michigan boy who was well known to me, came up on his horse in search of our division forage train, for he was orderly to our brigadier-general, and wanted oats for his horses. Stopping a moment to contemplate the scene I was admiring, he said,--

"You just keep an eye on my horse a minute, will you, and I'll show you how I get oats for my horses when forage is scarce."

It was very often a difficult matter for the mounted officers to get forage for their horses; for our movements were so many and so sudden, that it was plainly impossible for the trains to follow us wherever we went. Often when we halted at night the wagons were miles and miles away from us, and sometimes we did not get a sight of them for a week, or even longer. Then the poor hard-ridden horses would have to suffer. But it was well known that Page could get oats when nobody else could. Though the wagon trains were many miles in the rear, Page seldom permitted his horses to go to bed supperless. Though an American by birth, he was a Spartan in craft, and had a wit as keen and sharp as a razor. It was said that, rather than have his horses go without their allowance, he would if necessary sit up half the night, after a hard day's march, and wait till everybody else was sound asleep, and then quietly slip from under the heads of the orderlies of other commands the very oat-bags which, in order to guard them the more securely, they were using for their pillows; for oats Page would have for the general's horse, by hook or by crook.

"You see the commissary yonder?" said Page to me in a half-whisper, as he dismounted and threw an empty bag over his arm and gave his waist-belt a hitch: "he's a coward, he is. Look at him how he jukes his head at every crack of the cannon! Don't know whether he's dealing out oats to the right man or not. Just you keep an eye on my horse, will you?"

Now Page had no right in the least to draw forage rations there, for that was not our division-train. But as he did not know where our division-train was, and as all the oats belonged to Uncle Sam anyhow, why where was the harm of getting your forage wherever you could?

Pushing his way into the circle of teamsters, who were too much engaged in watching for shells to notice the presence of a stranger, Page boldly opened his bag, while Mr. Commissary, ducking his head between his shoulders at every boom of the guns, poured four bucketfuls of oats into the bag of the new-comer, whereupon Page shouldered his prize, mounted his horse, and rode away with a smile on his face which said as plainly as could be, "That's the way to do it, my lad!"

In the wild _mêlée_ of that May evening there at Jericho,--where evidently we had all fallen among thieves,--there was no little confusion as to the rights of property; _meum_ and _tuum_ got sadly mixed; some horses had lost their owners, and some owners had lost their horses; and the same was the case with the mules. So that by the time things began to get quiet again, some of the boys had picked up stray horses, or bought them for a mere song. On coming up with the regiment, I found that Andy had just concluded a bargain of this sort. He had bought a sorrel horse. The animal was a great raw-boned, ungainly beast, built after the Gothic style of horse architecture, and would have made an admirable sign for a feed-store up North, as a substitute for "Oats wanted; inquire within." However, when I came up, Andy had already concluded the bargain, and had become the sole owner and proprietor of the sorrel horse for the small consideration of ten dollars.

"Why, Andy!" exclaimed I, "what in the name of all conscience do you want with a horse? Going to join the cavalry?"

"Well," said Andy, with a grin, "I took him on a speculation. Going to feed him up a little"----

"Glad to hear it," said I; "he needs it sadly."

"Yes; going to feed him up and then sell him to somebody, and double my money on him, you see. You may ride him on the march and carry our traps. I guess the colonel will give you permission. And, you know, that would be a capital arrangement for you, for you are so sick and weak that you are often left behind on the march."

"Thank you, old boy," said I with a shrug. "You always were a good, kind, thoughtful soul; but if the choice must be between joining the general cavalcade of coffee-coolers on this old barebones of yours and marching afoot, I believe I'd prefer the infantry."

However, we tied a rope around the neck of _Bonaparte_, as we significantly called him, fastened him up to a stake, rubbed him down, begged some oats of Page, and pulled some handfuls of young grass for him, and so left him for the night.

I do not think Andy slept well that night. How could he after so bold a dash into the horse-market? Grotesque images of the wooden horse of ancient Troy, and of Don Quixote on his celebrated Rosinante charging the windmills, were no doubt hopelessly mixed up in his dreams with wild vagaries of General Grant at the head of Mosby's men fiercely trying to force a passage across Jericho Ford. For daylight had scarcely begun to peep into the forest the next morning, when Andy rolled out from under the blankets and went to look after Bonaparte. I was building a fire when he came back. It seemed to me that he looked a little solemn.

"How's Bony this morning, Andy?" inquired I.

Andy whistled a bit, stuck his hands into his pockets, mounted a log, took off his cap, made a bow, and said:

"Comrades and fellow-citizens, lend me your ears, and be silent that you may hear! This is my first and last speculation in horseflesh. _Bony is gone!_"

It was indeed true. We had fallen among thieves, and they had even baffled Andy's plan for future money-making; for none of us ever laid eyes on Bony again.