Sorry about the lack of posts, trying to get the crops in the ground here in good 'ol Indiana. Most of the spring has been like a monsoon season! Found this on the Authentic Campaigner site, and wanted to pass it on for all those early spring and late fall events where the weather gets a bit frosty!
http://www.geocities.com/rowdy_pards/articles/sleeping.html
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
And a Nickname is Born
Most of you probably know that Ulysses S. Grant was nicknamed "Unconditional Surrender" Grant by the northern press after he took Fort Donelson. What some of you might not know is the exchange of dispatches between the opposing commanders that brought this about. Found this in the TimeLife "Voices of the Civil War" series of books.
Brigadier General Ulysses S. Grant:
"Before daylight General Smith brought to me the following letter from General Buckner: 'Sir, in consideration of all the circumstances governing the present situation of affairs at this station, I propose to the Commanding Officer of the Federal forces the appointment of Commissioners to agree upon terms of capitulation of the forces and fort under my command, and in that view, suggest an armistice until 2 o'clock today."
Major John H. Brinton (Brigadier General on Grant's staff):
"The night was inclement. Our troops slept on their arms, General C.F. Smith's division being absolutely within the lines of defense around Fort Donelson. All apparently passed quietly enough, no sorties by the enemy and no attack by us. General Grant slept at his headquarters in a feather bed in the kitchen, and I remember that I was curled up on the floor near the fire with my head resting in the seat of my saddle. Early, very early, an orderly entered, ushering in General C.F. Smith, who seemed very cold, indeed half frozen. He walked at once to the open fire on the hearth, for a moment warmed his feet, then turned his back to the fire, facing General Grant who had slipped out of bed, and who was quickly drawing on his outer clothes.
'There's something for you to read, General Grant," said Smith, handing him a letter and while he was doing so, Smith asked us for something to drink. My flask, the only liquor on the Staff, was handed to him, and he helped himself in a soldier-like manner. I can almost see him now, erect, manly, every inch a soldier, standing in front of the fire, twisting his long white moustache and wiping his lips.
'What answer shall I send to this, General Smith,' asked Grant.
'No terms to the damned rebels," replied Smith. Those were his actual words. General Grant gave a short laugh, and drawing a piece of paper, letter size, and of rather poor quality, began to write. In a short time, certainly, not many minutes, he finished and read aloud as if to General Smith, but really so that we understrappers could all hear, his famous "Unconditional surrender" letter, ending with,
'I propose to move immediately upon your works.'
General Smith gave a short emphatic 'Hm!' and remarking, "It's the same thing in smoother words," stalked out of the room to deliver the letter, which was shortly followed by the return answer of surrender.
Brigadier General Simon Bolivar Buckner:
Headquarters Dover, Tenn.,
February 16, 1862
To Brig.-Gen. U.S. Grant, U.S.A.:
Sir: The distribution of the forces under my command, incident to an unexpected change of commanders, and the overwhelming force under your command, compel me, notwithstanding the brilliant success of the confederate arms yesterday, to accept the ungenerous and unchivalrous terms which you propose. I am, sir, your very obedient servant,
S.B. Buckner
Brig.-Gen. C.S.A.
Well played, sir. Bully!
Brigadier General Ulysses S. Grant:
"Before daylight General Smith brought to me the following letter from General Buckner: 'Sir, in consideration of all the circumstances governing the present situation of affairs at this station, I propose to the Commanding Officer of the Federal forces the appointment of Commissioners to agree upon terms of capitulation of the forces and fort under my command, and in that view, suggest an armistice until 2 o'clock today."
Major John H. Brinton (Brigadier General on Grant's staff):
"The night was inclement. Our troops slept on their arms, General C.F. Smith's division being absolutely within the lines of defense around Fort Donelson. All apparently passed quietly enough, no sorties by the enemy and no attack by us. General Grant slept at his headquarters in a feather bed in the kitchen, and I remember that I was curled up on the floor near the fire with my head resting in the seat of my saddle. Early, very early, an orderly entered, ushering in General C.F. Smith, who seemed very cold, indeed half frozen. He walked at once to the open fire on the hearth, for a moment warmed his feet, then turned his back to the fire, facing General Grant who had slipped out of bed, and who was quickly drawing on his outer clothes.
'There's something for you to read, General Grant," said Smith, handing him a letter and while he was doing so, Smith asked us for something to drink. My flask, the only liquor on the Staff, was handed to him, and he helped himself in a soldier-like manner. I can almost see him now, erect, manly, every inch a soldier, standing in front of the fire, twisting his long white moustache and wiping his lips.
'What answer shall I send to this, General Smith,' asked Grant.
'No terms to the damned rebels," replied Smith. Those were his actual words. General Grant gave a short laugh, and drawing a piece of paper, letter size, and of rather poor quality, began to write. In a short time, certainly, not many minutes, he finished and read aloud as if to General Smith, but really so that we understrappers could all hear, his famous "Unconditional surrender" letter, ending with,
'I propose to move immediately upon your works.'
General Smith gave a short emphatic 'Hm!' and remarking, "It's the same thing in smoother words," stalked out of the room to deliver the letter, which was shortly followed by the return answer of surrender.
Brigadier General Simon Bolivar Buckner:
Headquarters Dover, Tenn.,
February 16, 1862
To Brig.-Gen. U.S. Grant, U.S.A.:
Sir: The distribution of the forces under my command, incident to an unexpected change of commanders, and the overwhelming force under your command, compel me, notwithstanding the brilliant success of the confederate arms yesterday, to accept the ungenerous and unchivalrous terms which you propose. I am, sir, your very obedient servant,
S.B. Buckner
Brig.-Gen. C.S.A.
Well played, sir. Bully!
Friday, May 8, 2009
Camp Musicians
At the time of the Civil War, minstrel tunes sung with the accompaniment of the banjo and fiddle were the most popular forms of music, so it was only natural that within the armies, there were literally thousands of musicians. These camp musicians were one of the ways for the men to remove themselves from the monotony and terror of war. One famous musician, Sam Sweeney (brother of Joel Sweeney who is credited with the invention of the 5 string banjo), had only one job during the war. He was J.E.B. Stuart's personal banjo player and played for the troops, the general, and his guests.
The following story is from an article entitled "Reminiscences of a Banjo Player" published in the February 1893 issue of S.S. Stewart's Banjo and Guitar Journal. Mr. A. Baur relates the following:
"...In 1864 there were very few regiments in the service that had more than one wagon for the whole regiment...Strict orders were at all times issued that no baggage must be carried for an enlisted man in any of the wagons...Where there's a will, there's a way, and a few of us managed with the help of a friendly teamster to stow away a tack head banjo and an accordion...
If the weather was pleasant, a crowd would gather around the camp fire, the banjo and accordion having been sneaked out of the wagon and a door from some farm house or a couple of boards having been put on the ground on one side of the fire, the audience would take it's place on the opposite side, when the evening's entertainment would be gone through with. It consisted of songs with banjo and accordion accompaniment, stories of home and jig dancing. The performances were crude but helped while away many a lonely hour and remind us of home and friends in the far north.
Owing to poor facilities for keeping the instruments in order, the instrumental part of our entertainments were always the poorest. Sometimes it would be weeks before we could get a string, and if the banjo head was broken, it took much time and maneuvering for one of our party to steal into the tent of a drummer and punch a hole in a drum near the shell, after which we would watch that drummer's tent with eagle eyes until he took the damaged head and threw it out, when 'one of the gang' would pounce on it and bring it to camp in a round about way. Owing to their thickness, the drum heads did not make very good banjo heads, but they beat 'nothing clear out of sight.' In addition to the banjo and accordion, we had a set of beef bones and a sheet iron mess pan that answered for a tambourine. Taking into consideration our surroundings and the disadvantages under which we labored, we had some tolerably good shows and at any rate satisfied our open air audiences..."
As I am currently working on learning how to play the minstrel style banjo, I saw this and thought it very interesting. Maybe a flavor to be added to our camps at night during reenactments, and if we don't have a banjo handy, just make our own instruments with whatever is laying around. Of course, be courteous to sleeping messmates as it will probably be a noise most likely to wake the dead!
The following story is from an article entitled "Reminiscences of a Banjo Player" published in the February 1893 issue of S.S. Stewart's Banjo and Guitar Journal. Mr. A. Baur relates the following:
"...In 1864 there were very few regiments in the service that had more than one wagon for the whole regiment...Strict orders were at all times issued that no baggage must be carried for an enlisted man in any of the wagons...Where there's a will, there's a way, and a few of us managed with the help of a friendly teamster to stow away a tack head banjo and an accordion...
If the weather was pleasant, a crowd would gather around the camp fire, the banjo and accordion having been sneaked out of the wagon and a door from some farm house or a couple of boards having been put on the ground on one side of the fire, the audience would take it's place on the opposite side, when the evening's entertainment would be gone through with. It consisted of songs with banjo and accordion accompaniment, stories of home and jig dancing. The performances were crude but helped while away many a lonely hour and remind us of home and friends in the far north.
Owing to poor facilities for keeping the instruments in order, the instrumental part of our entertainments were always the poorest. Sometimes it would be weeks before we could get a string, and if the banjo head was broken, it took much time and maneuvering for one of our party to steal into the tent of a drummer and punch a hole in a drum near the shell, after which we would watch that drummer's tent with eagle eyes until he took the damaged head and threw it out, when 'one of the gang' would pounce on it and bring it to camp in a round about way. Owing to their thickness, the drum heads did not make very good banjo heads, but they beat 'nothing clear out of sight.' In addition to the banjo and accordion, we had a set of beef bones and a sheet iron mess pan that answered for a tambourine. Taking into consideration our surroundings and the disadvantages under which we labored, we had some tolerably good shows and at any rate satisfied our open air audiences..."
As I am currently working on learning how to play the minstrel style banjo, I saw this and thought it very interesting. Maybe a flavor to be added to our camps at night during reenactments, and if we don't have a banjo handy, just make our own instruments with whatever is laying around. Of course, be courteous to sleeping messmates as it will probably be a noise most likely to wake the dead!
Thursday, May 7, 2009
The Battle of Chicago's Beer Gardens
Whew! It's been awhile! Well let's get right to it.
This tale comes from Robert Strong, and involves his return trip to Illinois after the war. His regiment was sent back to Chicago. They wired the mayor asking for quarters and provisions and got none! They were then ordered to to different quarters, still with nothing to eat. You can imagine the mood the men were in by this time.
"We reached our camp at nine o'clock Friday morning and found some rations had been sent to us. On opening the boxes of crackers, we found them alive with worms. The meat was so maggotty that we could not eat it. Then we were mad! Our officers bought us some dinner and the quartermaster was sent for. He attempted to apologize for the condition of the rations. He was told that if he did not very soon have full, clean rations on the grounds, we would hang him. The rations came, but we stayed mad.
Adjoining the camp was a Dutch beer garden. On sunday morining it began to fill up with men and women coming to spend the day drinking and dancing.
The other regiments in camp besides the 105th (Strong's unit) did not go home saturday night, but went almost in a body into these beer gardens. Early on sunday, a soldier in one of those regiments bought a whopping big glass of beer and drunk the health of "Old Billy Sherman." When this soldier toasted Old Billy, a big Dutchman said, "Damn Sherman." The soldier knocked him down with his beer glass. Others came to the Dutchman's rescue, and for a time I thought they would clean us out.
Just then, some soldier called out, "Attention, Sherman's Bummers to the rescue!" and then, Oh my countrymen, began a fierce fight. In ten minutes, the saloon keeper had not a bottle or keg or box of cigars unsmashed, and he himself lay senseless on the ground. Police came rushing in with their clubs, and they got a drubbing. The battle kept roaring for two hours. We did not go for our guns, but used our fists and chairs and the clubs which we had taken away from the policemen.
The mayor ordered out all the police and himself came to quell the riot. He swore he would arrest every one of us. As it happened, General Joe Hooker, who had formerly had command of us, appeared about then. He told the mayor: 'These boys are mad at the way you have used them, but will quiet down if you let them alone. But if you bring any more policemen or new troops here, they will think it fun to whip the whole crowd. They have faced cannon and musketry for three years, and do not know what fear is. Let them alone or they will burn down your city.'
So the mayor left us alone."
Awesome. Go Hooker!
This tale comes from Robert Strong, and involves his return trip to Illinois after the war. His regiment was sent back to Chicago. They wired the mayor asking for quarters and provisions and got none! They were then ordered to to different quarters, still with nothing to eat. You can imagine the mood the men were in by this time.
"We reached our camp at nine o'clock Friday morning and found some rations had been sent to us. On opening the boxes of crackers, we found them alive with worms. The meat was so maggotty that we could not eat it. Then we were mad! Our officers bought us some dinner and the quartermaster was sent for. He attempted to apologize for the condition of the rations. He was told that if he did not very soon have full, clean rations on the grounds, we would hang him. The rations came, but we stayed mad.
Adjoining the camp was a Dutch beer garden. On sunday morining it began to fill up with men and women coming to spend the day drinking and dancing.
The other regiments in camp besides the 105th (Strong's unit) did not go home saturday night, but went almost in a body into these beer gardens. Early on sunday, a soldier in one of those regiments bought a whopping big glass of beer and drunk the health of "Old Billy Sherman." When this soldier toasted Old Billy, a big Dutchman said, "Damn Sherman." The soldier knocked him down with his beer glass. Others came to the Dutchman's rescue, and for a time I thought they would clean us out.
Just then, some soldier called out, "Attention, Sherman's Bummers to the rescue!" and then, Oh my countrymen, began a fierce fight. In ten minutes, the saloon keeper had not a bottle or keg or box of cigars unsmashed, and he himself lay senseless on the ground. Police came rushing in with their clubs, and they got a drubbing. The battle kept roaring for two hours. We did not go for our guns, but used our fists and chairs and the clubs which we had taken away from the policemen.
The mayor ordered out all the police and himself came to quell the riot. He swore he would arrest every one of us. As it happened, General Joe Hooker, who had formerly had command of us, appeared about then. He told the mayor: 'These boys are mad at the way you have used them, but will quiet down if you let them alone. But if you bring any more policemen or new troops here, they will think it fun to whip the whole crowd. They have faced cannon and musketry for three years, and do not know what fear is. Let them alone or they will burn down your city.'
So the mayor left us alone."
Awesome. Go Hooker!
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Fine Tuning
Well, busy at work and not a lot of time for blogging today! Check out this little link about fine tuning your federal impression. And no, it doesn't include big $$$$$!!!!!
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Oracle/8577/ftneart.html
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Oracle/8577/ftneart.html
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
That Rascally Morgan
So my reenacting unit's first event is coming up this weekend at Vernon, IN. It is for the town's Sassafras Festival, and the proceeds go to benefit the local historical society. I recommend anyone who's in the area to come on over and check it out, as the home made pies and breads are excellent!!
Vernon's history includes just a bit of Morgan's final raid into Kentucky, Indiana, and Ohio. It was just outside of town that he turned east into Ohio and eventually to his capture. Submitted by a friend, this is a story related from "The Camp Jester, or Amusement for the Mess" published by Blackmar and Brother, Augusta, GA, 1864. Its an amusing little story about an interaction by Morgan and some Indiana home guard.
HOW MORGAN GOT THREE HUNDRED HORSES.
John Morgan is as good at playing a joke sometimes as he is at horse stealing, and the following incident will prove that on this occasion he did a little of both at the same time. During his celebrated tour through Indiana he, with about three hundred and fifty guerillas, took occasion to pay a visit to a little town hard by, while the main body were 'marching on.' Dashing suddenly into the little 'burg,' he found about three hundred home guards, each having a good horse tied to the fences--the men standing about in groups, awaiting orders from their aged captain, who looked as if he had seen the shady side of some sixty years. The Hoosier boys looked at the men with astonishment while the captain went up to one of the party and asked:
"Whose company is this?"
"Wolford's cavalry," said the reb.
"What! Kentucky boys! We're glad to see you boys? Whar's Wolford?"
"There he sits," said a ragged, rough rebel, pointing to Morgan, who was sitting side ways upon his horse.
The Captain walked up to Wolford (as he and all thought) and saluted him:
"Captain, how are you?"
"Bully! How are you? What are you going to do with all these men and horses?" Morgan looked about.
"Well, you see that damned horse thieving John Morgan is in this part of the country with a parcel of cut throats and thieves, and between you and I, if he comes up this way Captain, we'll give him the best we've got in the shop."
"He's hard to catch, we've been after him for fourteen days and can't see him at all," said Morgan good humoredly.
"Ef our hosses would stand fire we'd be all right."
"Won't they stand?"
"No, Captain Wolford; 'spose while you're restin' you and your company put your saddles on our horses and go through a little evolution or two, by way of a lesson to our boys. I am told you are a hoss on the drill."
And the only man that Morgan is afraid of, Wolford (as it were,) alighted and ordered "his boys" to dismount, as he wanted to show the Hoosier boys how to give Morgan a warm reception should he chance to pay them a visit. This delighted the hoosier boys, so they went to work and assisted the men to tie their old weary, worn out bones to the fences, and place their saddles upon the backs of their fresh horses, which was soon done, and the men were in their saddles drawn up in line and ready for the word. The boys were highly elated at the idea of having their pet horses," trained for them by Wolford and his men, and the more so to think that they would stand fire ever afterwards.
The old Captain advanced, and walking up to Wolford, (as he thought,) said: "Captain, are you all right now?" Wolford rode up one side of the column and down the other, when he moved to the front, took off his hat, paused and said, "Now, Captain, I am ready; if you and your gallant men wish to witness an evolution which you perhaps have never seen, form a line on each side of the road, and watch us closely as we pass." The Captain did as he was directed. A lot of ladies were present on the occasion, and all was as silent as a maiden's sigh.
"Are you ready?"
"All right, Wolford," shouted the Captain.
"Forward!" shouted Morgan, as the whole column rushed through the crowd with lightning speed, amid the shouts and huzzas of every one present--some leading a horse or two as they went, leaving their frail tenements of horse flesh tied to the fences, to be provided for by the citizens. It soon became whispered about that it was John Morgan and his gang, and there is not a man in the town who will "own up" that he was gulled out of a horse. The company disbanded that night, though the Captain holds the horses as prisoners of war, and awaits an exchange.
There's some great stuff in this book and is available online to read for free. Just google "The Camp Jester," and check it out!
Vernon's history includes just a bit of Morgan's final raid into Kentucky, Indiana, and Ohio. It was just outside of town that he turned east into Ohio and eventually to his capture. Submitted by a friend, this is a story related from "The Camp Jester, or Amusement for the Mess" published by Blackmar and Brother, Augusta, GA, 1864. Its an amusing little story about an interaction by Morgan and some Indiana home guard.
HOW MORGAN GOT THREE HUNDRED HORSES.
John Morgan is as good at playing a joke sometimes as he is at horse stealing, and the following incident will prove that on this occasion he did a little of both at the same time. During his celebrated tour through Indiana he, with about three hundred and fifty guerillas, took occasion to pay a visit to a little town hard by, while the main body were 'marching on.' Dashing suddenly into the little 'burg,' he found about three hundred home guards, each having a good horse tied to the fences--the men standing about in groups, awaiting orders from their aged captain, who looked as if he had seen the shady side of some sixty years. The Hoosier boys looked at the men with astonishment while the captain went up to one of the party and asked:
"Whose company is this?"
"Wolford's cavalry," said the reb.
"What! Kentucky boys! We're glad to see you boys? Whar's Wolford?"
"There he sits," said a ragged, rough rebel, pointing to Morgan, who was sitting side ways upon his horse.
The Captain walked up to Wolford (as he and all thought) and saluted him:
"Captain, how are you?"
"Bully! How are you? What are you going to do with all these men and horses?" Morgan looked about.
"Well, you see that damned horse thieving John Morgan is in this part of the country with a parcel of cut throats and thieves, and between you and I, if he comes up this way Captain, we'll give him the best we've got in the shop."
"He's hard to catch, we've been after him for fourteen days and can't see him at all," said Morgan good humoredly.
"Ef our hosses would stand fire we'd be all right."
"Won't they stand?"
"No, Captain Wolford; 'spose while you're restin' you and your company put your saddles on our horses and go through a little evolution or two, by way of a lesson to our boys. I am told you are a hoss on the drill."
And the only man that Morgan is afraid of, Wolford (as it were,) alighted and ordered "his boys" to dismount, as he wanted to show the Hoosier boys how to give Morgan a warm reception should he chance to pay them a visit. This delighted the hoosier boys, so they went to work and assisted the men to tie their old weary, worn out bones to the fences, and place their saddles upon the backs of their fresh horses, which was soon done, and the men were in their saddles drawn up in line and ready for the word. The boys were highly elated at the idea of having their pet horses," trained for them by Wolford and his men, and the more so to think that they would stand fire ever afterwards.
The old Captain advanced, and walking up to Wolford, (as he thought,) said: "Captain, are you all right now?" Wolford rode up one side of the column and down the other, when he moved to the front, took off his hat, paused and said, "Now, Captain, I am ready; if you and your gallant men wish to witness an evolution which you perhaps have never seen, form a line on each side of the road, and watch us closely as we pass." The Captain did as he was directed. A lot of ladies were present on the occasion, and all was as silent as a maiden's sigh.
"Are you ready?"
"All right, Wolford," shouted the Captain.
"Forward!" shouted Morgan, as the whole column rushed through the crowd with lightning speed, amid the shouts and huzzas of every one present--some leading a horse or two as they went, leaving their frail tenements of horse flesh tied to the fences, to be provided for by the citizens. It soon became whispered about that it was John Morgan and his gang, and there is not a man in the town who will "own up" that he was gulled out of a horse. The company disbanded that night, though the Captain holds the horses as prisoners of war, and awaits an exchange.
There's some great stuff in this book and is available online to read for free. Just google "The Camp Jester," and check it out!
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
The Virginia Death March
After the surrender of Lee and Johnston, the two armies of the north prepared to march to the capital for one last "grand review" before being discharged. This is the disgraceful story of Sherman's army as it made its way through Virginia.
"Who was responsible for the severity of that march, I don't know. General Joseph A. Mower had been placed in command of our corps and it was said that he and other corps commanders had laid wagers as to who would reach Washington first.
The first half of the march was not hard, but then began the race. By then, it was very hot in the South. The march we were on wore out the best of us. Men fell out by the roadside and lay there completely eshausted. Sometimes the captain, or if the captain fell out, some other officer who would be leading the company, would find he had only three of four men following him and would draw them to one side and all lay down to rest. Some nights when going into camp the colonel would not have fifty men in this regiment.
We had made many forced marches on our long, roundabout route from Lousiville, Kentucky, through Tennessee, Georgia, and the Carolinas, but this march after the war was over always makes me mad to think of, even now.
I have seen men dying from exhaustion, lying in fence corners, whose deaths were simply murder. No one had time to time to wait on anyone, especially if the was a stranger. When our own boys fell down, we would pull them into the shade, pour water on their heads, and go on and leave them. We lost no men by death on this march, but we saw dead men lying in fence corners or under trees every day. After the first few days the boys got mad and fell out when they got tired. They came on when rested, and no rear guard meddled with them."
These words by Robert Strong, 105th Ill., are especially disturbing because of the fact that the war was over. I have no evidence to believe that a "race" was the cause for the march, or that the officers had placed wagers on it. What I do know is that an officer's duty is not only to lead and command, but to also look out for the well being of their men. It is shameful to think of men being treated this way, after marching so far, fighting so long, and enduring so much. How hard it must have been to bring even the hardest veterans of Sherman's army to fall out.
"Who was responsible for the severity of that march, I don't know. General Joseph A. Mower had been placed in command of our corps and it was said that he and other corps commanders had laid wagers as to who would reach Washington first.
The first half of the march was not hard, but then began the race. By then, it was very hot in the South. The march we were on wore out the best of us. Men fell out by the roadside and lay there completely eshausted. Sometimes the captain, or if the captain fell out, some other officer who would be leading the company, would find he had only three of four men following him and would draw them to one side and all lay down to rest. Some nights when going into camp the colonel would not have fifty men in this regiment.
We had made many forced marches on our long, roundabout route from Lousiville, Kentucky, through Tennessee, Georgia, and the Carolinas, but this march after the war was over always makes me mad to think of, even now.
I have seen men dying from exhaustion, lying in fence corners, whose deaths were simply murder. No one had time to time to wait on anyone, especially if the was a stranger. When our own boys fell down, we would pull them into the shade, pour water on their heads, and go on and leave them. We lost no men by death on this march, but we saw dead men lying in fence corners or under trees every day. After the first few days the boys got mad and fell out when they got tired. They came on when rested, and no rear guard meddled with them."
These words by Robert Strong, 105th Ill., are especially disturbing because of the fact that the war was over. I have no evidence to believe that a "race" was the cause for the march, or that the officers had placed wagers on it. What I do know is that an officer's duty is not only to lead and command, but to also look out for the well being of their men. It is shameful to think of men being treated this way, after marching so far, fighting so long, and enduring so much. How hard it must have been to bring even the hardest veterans of Sherman's army to fall out.
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