Chapter XXII: In Camp at White House

“We’ve stirred up the Johnnies, boys, come on!”

It was one of the boys in blue who uttered the cry. He had forded the little stream and now his friends came after him. Rifle shots were sounding out up and down the water-course for a distance of several hundred feet, and the Union soldiers pushed their way through the hollow with care.

A minute after another detachment of Northern soldiers appeared. They were from the Goreville Volunteers, and were headed by Nathan Hornsby. In some manner the Goreville boys had become detached from the remainder of their command and were “bunking” with a New Jersey company, also detached.

Hornsby had noted the skirmish and had led forth ten men, including Harry Bingham and Callings. He had asked Jerry Rowe to come, but Jerry had declined, saying he was suffering from a lame foot. Jerry’s lame foot was very much in evidence from that time on, whenever a fight was close at hand, although it was noted he could retreat about as fast as any sprinter present.

“Here’s a camp,” cried Hornsby, as they came in sight of the place. “If they haven’t set fire to their hut,” he added.

“We’ll force them back,” put in Callings. “If--listen!”

He stopped short, and every man listened, his hand on the trigger of his weapon.

“It’s a cry for help!” put in Harry. “I believe it comes from the dugout!”

“Some poor, wounded fellow has been left behind,” said Hornsby. “Let us rescue him. It’s awful to let anybody burn up.”

“I’m with you,” answered Harry. “But look out, it may be only a trick of the enemy.”

Cautiously but rapidly they advanced. In the meantime the firing down the stream became louder, showing the Confederates were massing at that point. Soon Harry Bingham gained the dugout and kicking aside several of the firebrands, he entered and Hornsby followed.

“Louis! Is it possible!”

“Harry! Oh, how thankful I am that you have come! Kick those firebrands away. I am almost suffocated,” and the last word fairly choked in Louis’s throat. His eyes were bulging from their sockets and he could not have held out much longer. Harry did as directed, while Hornsby drew out his jack-knife and cut the rope. Between them they took the released one out into the fresh air, where the rain and coolness soon revived him.

“So the Confederates captured you,” said Harry, as he continued to support Louis.

“Do you know who it was, Harry? Sam Jacks, Caleb Fox, and their followers.”

“Really!”

“Yes, and that’s not all. The whole crowd are nothing but common thieves,” and in a few brief words Louis related what had occurred. “I’m mighty glad they don’t belong to our side,” he concluded.

“Such rascals don’t belong to either side, Louis,” answered Harry, gravely. “Why General Johnson, or Longstreet, or Hill, or any of those Confederate leaders would shoot ’em on sight, you know that as well as I do.”

There was no time to say more, for some of the Union men were coming back, shouting that the rebel force were too much for them. Limping painfully, Louis followed his friends back to the camp of the Goreville Volunteers, and was not long in getting to bed. A desultory firing was kept up all night, but no further raids upon either side were attempted.

On the following morning a discovery awaited the Union leaders. During the blackness of the night and the noise of the storm the greater part of the Confederate forces had withdrawn from Williamsburg, thus continuing their retreat towards Richmond. The way was now once more clear to the Union forces. On the 8th of May the onward march was resumed, not directly for Richmond, but towards White House, which was to be the base of supplies during the final advance upon the Confederate capital. The march to the great plain before White House occupied, in one way and another, a week, and during that time a branch of the army, as before stated, fought and sent the Confederates flying from West Point, not many miles distant.

The march, on account of the miserable weather and the wretched condition of the roads, was a weary one and was not totally devoid of peril. On the way the baggage train sought to take a side road, thinking to find a better bottom for horses and wagons. The train was barely out of sight of the regular troops when some Confederate cavalry and soldiers dashed down upon it, sending all in confusion. Andy took part in this raid, and it is but proper that we should tell here of what happened to him.

He was resting flat on his back on a bed made of brush when the order came, “To horse--we move in five minutes!” Weary still from a long, stubborn fight on the road north of Williamsburg, where the Montgomery Grays had handsomely repulsed a regiment of Union soldiers in their fierce struggle to outflank them, Andy leaped up and made ready to leave. Leroy had warned him, although Andy had heard the bugle, in a half-dreamy way, being on the verge of dropping to sleep.

“Where are we going, Leroy?”

“After the Yankees’ baggage train, Andy. The general got wind of it somehow that we may be able to steal some of their wagons. That will be sport--if we can get hold of anything good to eat.”

“I reckon they haven’t anything much better than ourselves,” said Andy, as he buckled on his saber and saw to it that his trappings were secure and Firefly was in proper fettle.

The Montgomery Grays were soon on the road, splashing through the mud at the rate of eight miles an hour. They had to make a detour, past a little hut where several women folks were busy dressing chickens.

“They don’t dare to leave them running around any more,” laughed Leroy. “I declare, I believe some of the boys would rather capture a chicken than a Yankee.”

“I’m one of that sort--sometimes,” Andy laughed in return. “Um! how good a nice broiled chicken would taste,” and he smacked his lips.

The Union baggage train had passed New Kent when it was sighted on the road by the Montgomery Grays. A battery of the Confederates had also come up, and this opened fire immediately, throwing the train into great confusion.

“Forward, boys!” shouted Captain Montgomery, and away went the Grays, down a slight slope at terrific speed. The teamsters in the wagons nearest to them yelled in alarm, and four of them forsook the two wagons they were driving and ran for their lives.

“Hurrah! Here are two wagons, Leroy!” shouted Andy; then as Captain Montgomery dashed by he continued, “Captain, can I drive one of the wagons off before they can recapture it?”

“Yes,” was the short answer, for now some Union regulars were seen in the distance. “Take another man with you, and don’t lose your own horses.”

“We won’t, sir. Come on, Leroy, here’s a lark!” and hopping from Firefly, Andy leaped up on the seat of the nearest turnout and whipped up the team. Leroy caught hold of Firefly and rode close alongside, looking back occasionally in order to cover the rear.

Up along a side road Andy lashed the animals, over sticks and stumps and through mud a foot and more deep. Once he glanced into the wagon and saw that it was well filled with some articles carefully covered with an oiled canvas. “Something worth having in there, I’ll wager a fortune,” he said to himself. “I hope it’s food. Won’t the Grays have a feast, if it is!”

The thought was so pleasant it made him smile and he urged forward the horses again while he shouted out on the side of the covering:

“Anybody coming, Leroy?”

“Some infantry over to the left,” answered his friend. “I can’t make out if they are Yankees or our own fellows.”

“We won’t run any chances. Phew! won’t those Yanks be mad when they find we have run off with one of their wagons.”

“I see a box sticking out labeled canned peaches,” went on Leroy. “And there is another labeled catsup. We’ve struck it rich and no mistake, Andy.”

“We’ll divide with the boys to-night, Leroy--it will help ’em to remember this capture so much longer,” concluded Andy, and a vision of a heaped-up plate of canned peaches loomed up most appetizingly before his mind. The catsup he did not care so much about, although it would go very well with pork and beans.

On and on they went until a down grade was gained. By this time the firing which had begun in the distance had ceased, and they heard the tramp of cavalry behind them. A quarter of an hour later the Montgomery Grays came up. Some United States regulars had appeared to protect the wagon train and the object of the Confederate raid was very largely defeated. But they had one wagon, and of this Andy felt very proud.

“Canned peaches and catsup and lots of other good things, boys!” he sang out, as they continued on their way, and he promised to share and share alike all around as soon as camp was reached, providing Captain Montgomery was willing, and the captain was.

Sundown found them safe within the Confederate lines again. A motley collection of infantry, cavalrymen, and artillerists gathered around.

“Now for some of them canned peaches and some catsup!” cried somebody, and the oiled canvas was hauled aside and the boxes were lifted carefully to the ground. The covers were partly loose and were speedily wrenched off.

“Great gumboils!”

“It ain’t canned peaches at all; it’s only axle-grease!”

“Axle-grease and wagon hardware! Well, I swan!”

What a howl went up! Then the crowd turned to poor Andy and Leroy. But that pair had nothing to say. They sneaked out of sight with all possible speed. It was a long while before either heard the last of that “canned peaches and catsup.”

The passing of the cannon ball and the peril endured in the dugout had weakened Louis a good deal, and the march through Williamsburg and New Kent Court House proved a wearisome one to him.

“I’m glad we are to rest at last,” he remarked to Harry, when they came into sight of the camp on the plain previously mentioned. “Another day on the road would do me up.”

“I never saw so much mud in my life, Louis; but see, I think we are going to have a fairly good camping place, well up the side of yonder slope. That will mean a whole lot in this beastly weather.”

By noon guns had been stacked, lines formed, and tents had been pitched. It took the army two days to enter and take possession of the plain, and this vast body of men occupied a territory about four miles square. When all were settled it was a most imposing sight. There were miles after miles of “dog” tents, with here and there a high marquee for the officers, standing up like church steeples in a big city. There were line after line of cannon and ammunition carriages, a vast collection of wagons, and thousands upon thousands of horses, while the blue uniformed soldiers filled every “street” and crossway. Back on the river loomed up the gunboats of the navy and hundreds of transports, and everything was alive, bustling and “chock full of business,” as Harry declared. It was a scene worthy of the greatest painter in the world. If this great and superb army could not conquer, it was only because they met, not enemies, but brothers worthy of their steel.

Nearly a week was spent in the Cumberland camp, as it has been called by many, and that week, despite the fact that the army was doing no fighting, was a busy one, although now all of the soldiers got their proper time to rest. The sun came out once more, the ground began to dry up, and as Louis said, “life was once more worth living.”

Near to where the Goreville Volunteers were situated flowed a small stream, and in this the soldiers went bathing and washed their clothing. It was rather a comical sight to see hundreds of men squatting down by the water’s edge, or sitting upon flat rocks, rubbing and soaping and rinsing away like so many washer-women. Even the soldiers had to laugh at themselves, and many were the jokes passed about getting a job in a laundry when the war was over. Some few were too lazy to do much work of this sort, but the majority would go a long way to be clean and comfortable. Of course mending went with the washing, and even Louis sat for hours, threading a needle that seldom would thread, and sewing on buttons and mending socks.

Mail day was an event, and the soldier who did not get at least one letter from home was the object of genuine sympathy. After the communications were delivered there were always a certain number left, mute reminders of war’s terrors, for those letters were addressed to those who had died on the field of battle.

There was other reading, too, for the newspapers from New York, Boston, and Philadelphia could be had, if one wanted to pay the price, which was from ten cents to “two shillings” apiece, and these and the big pictorial weeklies were read by one and another until the pages would no longer hold together. There were also many religious books and tracts, supplied by the various religious societies of the North, reading that brought many a poor sinner to the realization of his condition.

Among the letters was one from home for Louis, stating his last had been received. Mr. Rockford mentioned the fact that he had had another call from Samuel Hammer and the fellow had threatened him with a suit at law to gain possession of the farm unless he was paid the three thousand dollars he demanded.

“I have put him off as best I could,” wrote Mr. Rockford. “And in the meantime I have learned that when Theodore Faily left this neighborhood he went to Richmond, Virginia, to live. Were it not for the war I should communicate with Faily at once and see if I could not get him to settle this Hammer claim. But, as matters now stand, my hands seem to be tied. I wish the war was over and we could get this matter straightened out. It worries your mother greatly.”

“This is certainly too bad!” murmured Louis. “If Faily went to Richmond we won’t be able to get at him, no matter how hard we try--at least for the present. I wish I could help father out of this trouble.”

Thus far during the campaign the Goreville Volunteers had lost six men. Besides this, nine were in the hospital, four wounded, and five down with the swamp fever and other sickness. For the sick ones, the boys did all they possibly could, buying them delicacies and the like, and sitting by them and reading the news in a low tone, so as not to disturb others.

So one day after another went by until the time mentioned had passed. Then came the orders to strike tents, and once more the army was set in motion, with its face turned towards Richmond, about ten miles distant. The great crisis of the peninsula campaign was at hand.