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Thought you all might enjoy this description of getting hurried into a fight. It's from Stanton Allen's 1892 book Down in Dixie (pp. 219-21) and describes the beginning of the cavalry fight around Todd's Tavern during the Battle of the Wilderness. Allen was in Co. I of the 1st Massachusetts (part of the battalion raised in the winter of 1863-64 to fill out the regiment), which was in the 1st brigade of Gregg's 2nd Cavalry Division.
Bang!
A single shot down the turnpike that led to Todd's Tavern. The First New Jersey of our brigade was on picket out there.
We were a little off the road, dismounted, and cooking our coffee. Our horses were unbridled, with their nosebags on, eating their allowance of oats. Old soldiers will understand the situation exactly when I say that the water in our tin cups was just beginning to "simmer around the edge." Some of the boys had already put in the spoonful of ground coffee that constituted the ration, and were anxiously waiting for it to bubble up—the first authentic rumor of its boiling. Many a time the correctness of the saying "a watched pot never boils" was demonstrated to the hungry soldiers.
Bang! bang! bang!
It was hard for the boys to believe that the first shot was not accidental, but when after an interval of a minute or two, three distinct reports were heard, we began to wish that we had boiled our coffee before reveille to make sure of it. Still we had no doubt of the ability of the Jersey lads to take care of the picket line, but we were apprehensive that a staff officer or somebody in authority would get excited and order us into our saddles.
"She biles!" exclaimed my bunkey who was watching the two tin cups on our little fire while I was sprinkling salt and pepper into a mixture of soaked hard-tack and pork that was stewing away in my frying pan. When cooked, the amalgamation was sweetened to taste, if there was sugar in the haversack. If not, we took it without sugar. The dish was popular in the army. I never could understand why it was given the name it was known by, unless the soldier who christened it entertained well-grounded suspicions that the meat used had been cut from a canine instead of a porker.
Just as we were taking our breakfast off the fire the bugle sounded "to horse." And the call was emphasized by lively picket firing all along our front.
"You bridle both our horses, and I'll try and cool our coffee so we can drink it," said my partner.
But the order to mount came close on the heels of the first bugle call, and the effort to save the coffee resulted in the blistering of my bunkey's hands. It was impossible for him to get into the saddle with a cup off hot coffee in each hand. He was so much disgusted with the situation that he threw the coffee away, and was not thoughtful enough to hold on to the cups.
"By fours, forward, trot, march!" and we were heading for the picket line where the First Jersey was exchanging leaden compliments with the enemy. A staff officer came dashing in from the woods where the fighting had begun, and the command "gallop" was given after he had reached the head of our regiment.
In a few minutes we were at the front. The Jersey boys cheered as we came into line across the turnpike and deployed to the right and left. We cheered also, but I suppose it was because some one had suggested it. Our battalion had never been in a regular battle, and we concluded it was proper to do as the veterans did.
Hang on to your cups, boys!
Andrew German
Bang!
A single shot down the turnpike that led to Todd's Tavern. The First New Jersey of our brigade was on picket out there.
We were a little off the road, dismounted, and cooking our coffee. Our horses were unbridled, with their nosebags on, eating their allowance of oats. Old soldiers will understand the situation exactly when I say that the water in our tin cups was just beginning to "simmer around the edge." Some of the boys had already put in the spoonful of ground coffee that constituted the ration, and were anxiously waiting for it to bubble up—the first authentic rumor of its boiling. Many a time the correctness of the saying "a watched pot never boils" was demonstrated to the hungry soldiers.
Bang! bang! bang!
It was hard for the boys to believe that the first shot was not accidental, but when after an interval of a minute or two, three distinct reports were heard, we began to wish that we had boiled our coffee before reveille to make sure of it. Still we had no doubt of the ability of the Jersey lads to take care of the picket line, but we were apprehensive that a staff officer or somebody in authority would get excited and order us into our saddles.
"She biles!" exclaimed my bunkey who was watching the two tin cups on our little fire while I was sprinkling salt and pepper into a mixture of soaked hard-tack and pork that was stewing away in my frying pan. When cooked, the amalgamation was sweetened to taste, if there was sugar in the haversack. If not, we took it without sugar. The dish was popular in the army. I never could understand why it was given the name it was known by, unless the soldier who christened it entertained well-grounded suspicions that the meat used had been cut from a canine instead of a porker.
Just as we were taking our breakfast off the fire the bugle sounded "to horse." And the call was emphasized by lively picket firing all along our front.
"You bridle both our horses, and I'll try and cool our coffee so we can drink it," said my partner.
But the order to mount came close on the heels of the first bugle call, and the effort to save the coffee resulted in the blistering of my bunkey's hands. It was impossible for him to get into the saddle with a cup off hot coffee in each hand. He was so much disgusted with the situation that he threw the coffee away, and was not thoughtful enough to hold on to the cups.
"By fours, forward, trot, march!" and we were heading for the picket line where the First Jersey was exchanging leaden compliments with the enemy. A staff officer came dashing in from the woods where the fighting had begun, and the command "gallop" was given after he had reached the head of our regiment.
In a few minutes we were at the front. The Jersey boys cheered as we came into line across the turnpike and deployed to the right and left. We cheered also, but I suppose it was because some one had suggested it. Our battalion had never been in a regular battle, and we concluded it was proper to do as the veterans did.
Hang on to your cups, boys!
Andrew German
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