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October 10, 1863
We came into the trash strewn reserve camp this afternoon in a cloud of dust & threw down out traps. We make it a jolly place but it is sluttish.
It is late. 2:30 A.M. I expect. Men are asleep throughout the woods around me. I can barely see to write by a candle stub. Can’t much sleep myself so I will scribble for a bit. Everything we do over the past 3 wks. or so seems to take on the aspect of a comic opera. Braxton Bragg is not fit to carry guts to a bear. I wish he would carry guts to a bear. Chickamauga was a victory but it was a mess. We should have bagged them whole, but we didn’t.
Night is warm, just shy of miserable.
Company was formed in the dark after rations - meager, no coffee - were issued, and we were sent out in some ridiculously complicated rotation to build obstructions and works. Our platoon headed out down a trail in the dark, feeling our way. Sam was in front of me weaving and stumbling as he went. “Hole.” “Stump.”
We pulled up to a section of trail where we built an obstruction in the form of a roughly piled fence laid across the trail with another fence just behind it. The ends of each fence were staggered so as to thwart any push by the yankees.
We tried to fell small trees by candle light but soon built a fire between the obstructions in order to see what we were swinging at. All our section had was a felling axe. We chopped and dragged wood in the flickering light and came back to camp with all of our fingers and toes, weaving our way back down the trail to the sound of axes ringing through the woods behind us, and the occasional popping of far off pickets.
We lay down on the ground near the fire and were asleep in an instant. In the next instant we were being awakened again in the dark and sent out again for more pioneer work. Back up the dark winding trail. “Hole.” “Stump.” “Rock.”
Soon, a faint glow could be seen ahead of us, reflecting off the foliage of the trees. As we drew closer I could see a fire burning on the ground. Then another. It soon became apparent that small bonfires at about 3 rod intervals stretched off down the line in either direction into the distance. There was the usual confusion as we stumbled about in the dark and soon we set about dragging logs into a line in front of the fires, which had been built so that we could see what we were doing. I stoked the fire my section was working in front of, throwing handfuls of dead leaves onto the coals which would flare up handsomely for a few seconds. The light would reach out into the woods where I could see enough to scavenge more wood laying on the ground to keep the fire going.
Somehow there were but two axes for the six men in our mess, so once the deadfall had been dragged in there was a fair amount of standing around in the dark making suggestions to those swinging the axes. Then the axe man would tire and get in line with the others for the “windy work”, suggesting to the new axe swinger a better way to do it.
Trees were felled and stacked. I found two large trees that had fallen to the ground that weren’t too rotten. Most of the section made ready to pick the first one up to carry to the works when Sam said “What about copperheads.” They like to hide under just such objects. We decided in a hurry that it would be better to leave those two until daylight.
I threw more leaves onto the fire and dashed out for more deadfall for firewood, which was getting scarce. Every small branch laying on the ground looked like a copperhead after that.
Eventually we were relieved and moved back to the reserve again. We had done our share in the middle of the night. I was surprised no one was hit by an axe in the dark. As we filed into camp it looked like silent black goblins were passing in front of the camp fire, throwing wild shadows. But it was only us. I laid down in the dirt with my head on my bedroll, in line with the rest of the section. T.J. came stamping up, sat down and said “Which one is that.” No one answered as the question did not make sense. “Which one is what.” I asked. He answered “To hell with you all. I’m going to sleep.” He hurled himself to the ground as much as a sitting man can, and spoke no more. Everyone followed suit directly.
October 11, 1863
Well, there is a live rooster with the company. I mention it because this morning at about 4:00 it performed its duty and started to crow. “Er er er er errr!” The sound tore the sleep right out of me, but I started to drift pleasantly off again. “Er er er er errr!” He was tethered about 5 feet away. He was tethered about 5 feet away from everyone pretty much. “Shut up!” “Er er er er errr!” “Kick it!” “Kill it!” “Er er er er errr!” “Throw a shoe at him!” “Chicken for breakfast!” “Er er er er errr!” “Ah!” No need for a bugler.
I’m not sure when the rooster made his appearance, but I discovered his presence last night when I heard a “Bigack!” coming out of the darkness near the campfire after we had returned from one of our pioneer tricks. Every few minutes someone would step on him in the dark and he would make that sound. I suppose this morning was his pay back for getting stepped on all night. He’s a tenacious fellow, has been named Kenton, and may survive as a mascot. I have been talking to him as he struts around on his tether, and throwing him peanuts.
We were ordered back up to the works to dig. Better than doing it in the dark. Roll was taken. The corporals fell out to issue picks and shovels. As Jay was leaving to do this I was inspired to tell him to snatch my cup from the bivouac so we could boil some coffee while we were on the line, as I‘d gotten a poke full from the sutler yesterday. When we got up to the line I realized that I had the cup but not the coffee. I engineered an unauthorized canteen detail as there was water about ½ a mile back, and the route would take me back past our bivouac where the rio was. Off I went, a relatively free man for a brief season.
At the well, a couple of cavalrymen rode up. They said they had been out between the lines, and that to our right there was a regular compliment of pickets on both sides staring at each other and popping off now & again, but that in front of us the pickets had wandered forward without their muskets for a look around. I traded some peppermint sticks to the cavalrymen for some coffee they had traded from the Yankees, then I headed back up.
I dropped the canteens, which the boys were glad to have, then wondered where mine had gone. No one had picked it up. Now I had the coffee and the cup, but no water. And more importantly, no water later either. Hell. I marched back to the bivouac, found the canteen laying next to my haversack where I had left it when I dug out the rio, talked to Kenton for a minute, gave him some more peanuts and headed back up for a 3rd time. In this way I neatly missed doing any digging.
A section of breastworks had been dug out & shoveled onto the logs we’d dragged up last night. Most of the company had gone to sleep on the ground or in the works. I went to building up the fire. Sam brought me a small rotten stump which worked quite well. I crushed the beans in my tin cup with a bayonet and boiled up some A1 coffee.
I was sitting in the works writing this, when I looked out into the woods in front of us, and saw a flash of blue. A yankee was coming up through the trees. I grabbed a musket, pointed it at him and yelled “Yankees! Right in front of us!” The rest of the chaps seemed unconcerned. Someone said “He’s bringing us our liver.” The yankee approached unarmed and climbed over the works. He looked to be about 18, seemed to be an affable, wize chap. He would have fit right in with us were it not for the blue coat and the fact that he’s an invader. He produced the liver and started chatting with the others. He said he was from Kansas. He said he’d like to visit Alabama someday. I piped in that once we win the war he can travel anywhere he likes, and that once we take Washington perhaps we’ll swing over to Kansas for a visit. I was baiting him but he didn’t bite. As I said: wize.
Well, now the bottom was out of the tub as far as fraternizing with the enemy was concerned. I had missed the news that we were trading with them while taking an hour and ½ to make a cup of coffee.
I headed down the ridge a piece with Phillip & Steven to see what was happening. As soon as we came out of the tree line we saw 2 yankees with their goods spread out on the ground like a couple of arabs. Seeing how it was done I did likewise. Soon I had traded an old Daily Rebel and some dried out old leaf for more coffee and a small hunk of cheeze. It was a windfall for me, and for the yankee too apparently. It was certainly strange.
In the clearing there was all kinds of trading of this sort, and little groups of unarmed men were strolling around like it was a Sunday promenade. Braxton Bragg would shit his trousers if he saw what was going on down here. Of course, he doesn’t know it’s happening. We’re not sure what he does know.
There were a couple of citizen sharps offering roulette, poker & whiskey. One of the sharps said, about the roulette, “Somebody always wins.” I asked him if his name was Somebody. He said “No, my name’s not Somebody. One of us wins every time.” I asked him what he meant by “us”. he said “One of you.” I asked if that meant he wouldn’t be dealing, and he moved off to solicit some other prospects. I found out later that, sure enough, he had lots of games to offer and always won each one in the end.
My little group continued roaming down in front of the line, walking to our right. Here came a little group of yankees who touched their caps and said good afternoon. There came a negro trotting by on a horse, all rigged up like a banker. A strange day.
Then off in the distance I saw three women in hoops standing together near a tent. I would sooner have expected an afternoon meteor shower. I personally made a bee line for these feminine forms as if drawn by a magnet. I was told by passing groups that they were whores, but I didn’t care. I wanted just to stand near them.
There were a lot of yankees flaxing around in that area. I was on my guard in case the wind should suddenly change & we’d have to do some tall running, but no one was armed.
I strode right up to the women, took off my cap, then felt a fool for gawking. They were beautiful and finely dressed. They looked like they had just stepped from the parlor onto the lawn. A body would not have known they were cyprians if they were walking down the street. They weren’t like the wretches we saw in Chattanooga. This group had left Nashville, were on their way to Atlanta & had stopped in at this bizarre scene along the way. I know that whores follow the armies, but it was odd to see them right between the two.
I had an opening statement prepared, which was “How much would it cost just to look at you.” One of them flicked open her fan, looked at me and said “That was a fine compliment.” Not really. It saddened me to see them reduced to such a state, but still they were lovely and they were standing right there. Godey’s plate #2, in the middle, said regarding me “This one doesn’t look like he can afford it. He’s awfully dirty.” I said “Well ma’am, we are engaged in a dirty business.” Then I turned obliquely, put on my cap, pretended to see something in the distance, turned front, took my cap off again, fiddled with it, and after what seemed to be about ½ an hour said something weak about not judging by appearances and just because I’m filthy doesn’t mean I’m light pocketed, which of course I was. I don’t know why she singled me out. I wasn’t any dirtier than the others. I decided it was because she liked me best.
Then their ponce or pimp or whatever they’re called approached & started hawking his human wares. It was more than I could afford and I didn’t want that anyhow. I gathered myself up and asked how much a kiss on the cheek would cost me. This caught him by surprise I reckon. He said he didn’t know. I proposed 5 cents. He said 10. I said 10 cents for 2 cheeks. He said one. Plate #2 asked which one of us wanted to give them a kiss. I said “I do.” and pulled out my wallet. She said “Alright.” The cit ponce said “Which one do you want to kiss?” I chose Godey’s #2 and pulled out a 10 cent stamp and asked who I should pay. She pointed to poncey and said “Him.” I said “I was afraid of that.” I would have liked to give him a different kind of stamp. I handed him the 10 cents, stepped up to where she was sitting, leaned down and gave her a perfect little spark on the cheek. It was all I would have wanted and it made my spirits soar. I think it made the ponce’s spirits sore, as she’d given me her cheek and I’d given him some chin.
It was getting toward 4:00, when we were supposed to be relieved on the line. Feeling quite satisfied, I floated over to Phillip and Steven and we started back. We ran into Jay and T.J. heading in the other direction. They were going to a stream which was a short piece past where the cyprians were installed, to take a bath in a stream. They looked like they could use it, as Jay was clutching a bottle and sweating a good bit. He looked like he was walking against a heavy wind, even though the air was still. Saying that T.J. was in a state of intoxication isn’t even worth writing down, but it looked like they had both overshot the mark a bit with the whiskey they had traded for.
When we got back up to the line everyone but the sentries was asleep, either in the works or sprawled on the ground behind them. The relief came up a few minutes later, commanded by Capt. Hicks. They arrived in formation and did the whole Halt Front Right Dress business. Capt. Hicks came forward to find most of us asleep and our commanding officer -T.J.- absent. Capt. Hicks surveyed the scene dourly. We woke up Sgt. Clark, who was passed out in the works drooling on himself. He woke to see an officer standing over him wanting to know what was happening here. He struggled to his feet, tried to look military, and answered the captain’s questions as best he could. We all sort of wandered back down the trail to our camp in the reserve. Well, those of us not still out trading, drinking, gambling, bathing or whoring in the presence of the enemy headed back. The rest will likely show up soon. I managed to carry a musket, a shovel and a cup of coffee all the way back. I was pretty impressed with myself there.
As we rounded the last bend of the trail I saw a pile of brown feathers scattered on the ground. It was clear that deliberations about keeping Kenton as a mascot had been terminated.
I have gone from having no coffee at all to having a good 5 issues worth; all procured from the yankees, the sutler and our cavalry, the three groups of people we like the least. The C.S. Gov’t lets the rich bastards at Atlanta drink coffee all day if they want to while we get nothing. There probably isn’t room left in the blockade runners with all the parasols and furniture they’re bringing in.
Shoes were issued to those who needed them. They are made of canvas with undyed leather reinforcements at the heel, toe and lace eyelets. The soles are of wood, with a leather hinge just behind the toes which allows the shoe to flex. They are strange looking but vastly superior to bare feet. We also rec’d socks & shirts from a ladies aid society. I got a pair of socks, and took a shirt, as mine is pretty torn up, but gave it to Matt who it would fit a little better.
We look a sight. About half of us are wearing trousers from home. The other half have taken issue trousers of a blue and white weave that look like they were cut from coverlets. They are already threatening to fray and rip. Some of us wear jackets from home, some have shredded Alabama issue jackets. Some have the new issue with blue collars & cuffs. My jacket from Alabama can stand on its own & has shrunk 2 sizes. I’m about due for a new one. Add to that these new brown & white canvas shoes and we look like a shipwrecked circus. In two months we will surely look different again.
It has been cooling off a little. We hear thunder in the distance and we are expecting some rain. The fact that it has cooled a bit still leaves it hot as blazes. My forehead is a bit raw from wiping it all day with my handkerchief.
I seem to have forgotten to mention that I received a small box and a letter yesterday in the mail from Mrs. Greene. I was the only one to receive a box. I handed out ginger cookies and peppermint sticks to the boys. I also rec’d a pipe & thread I had asked for as well as a set of dominoes, a comb, soap, candles, buttons. It was a bounty and some of it came in very convenient for trading today.
Jay blew his nose on a piece of an old sack and threw it on the ground. Jon picked it up and tied it around his head to absorb sweat, but quickly removed it when he was informed of its former use.
Dinner was Kenton stew with issue potatoes thrown in. I baked my potatoes in the coals, shared them with Phillip.
T.J. finally has a pair of lieutenant’s bars on his collar, courtesy of me. He lurched over to Jay in the dark and asked him to do it, but Jay was too corned. I was sitting next to Jay and happened to have my housewife out, about to wing together a bag for my new dominoes before it got too dark to see the stitches. I said I’d sew the bars on. It was a bother, but the next time I need a favor from him I’ll have some pull, as the reason why he should do the favor will be sewn on his coat.
Jay & T.J. decided to go visit the cyprians. T.J.’s strategy earlier today was “What if we pooled our money for one.” I asked “So one of us can get a rollover? And tell the rest of us how it was?” He looked into the distance and said “I didn’t think that far.” Somehow he and Jay were running with some version of that approach. They’ve counted out their money. I hope they saved some of it for mercury treatments in about 2 months. Jay borrowed my comb. Combed hair wasn’t going to do much to offset the rest of his appearance but I didn’t see any reason to point it out. They are back now, and strangely quiet on the subject of their visit.
Fiddling and singing commenced and went on for most of the night. We have 3 fiddlers in the company and they took turns on the fiddle we’ve been toting with us.
It’s particularly hot where my ground cloth is as it’s near the fire, but the company is packed in so tight that there’s nowhere for me to move to.
Company E was camped next to us but pulled back to the grand reserve or someplace else. I do not know why.
Well, right after I finished T.J.’s bars the thread slipped out of my blasted needle and I couldn’t get it back in by candle light. I had to switch to some black thread I had. The domino bag is sewn up now. I would have started losing them straight away without a place to put them.
October 12, 1863
Up at first light. Last night, Steven, Dave & I had apparently drunk too much of that yankee coffee and seem to have dared each other into going out past the picket line to see if we could stir up some trouble. We had been bragging earlier that we would do this and got the vague approval of Capt. Owens, as long as there was already any picket firing going on. The chin was that there was an official truce on.
By the time Steven really wanted to go do it I had thought better of the idea but went along w. private misgivings. It worked out alright though. We moved through the sleeping camp and up to the line, ran our own pickets and crossed the clearing in the moonlight.
The plan was to move through the woods in their front, see if we could provoke a shot, then fire a shot over the yankees’ heads, move a few yards, fire another, then head back to our own lines. We just wanted to have a little fun, keep them nervous & let them know that we were good for more than just trading them stale tobacco.
We sat at the edge of the opposite tree line and listened for them. Then we saw a pinpoint of light through the trees. Some fool on the yankee picket line had a lantern lit and was walking around with it, so we could tell where they were. We could hear talking and laughing. It seemed to me that they were changing their sentries.
We spread out at about 2 rod intervals and moved forward without too much care about being quiet, as we wanted them to know we were there. After a minute or so the other two started making pigeon noises, followed by owl noises, followed by bird noises of birds that don’t exist. I’m not a good whistler so I kicked in with a loud sound in my throat that sounded like a cross between a buzzard and a tree toad. Finally someone on the yankee line said “Halt.” We just kept up with the bird noises and crashing around in the dark and heard nothing more from the enemy.
By and by I heard movement in the dark ahead of me and hunkered behind a tree. I couldn’t rightly tell where my companions were. I started getting scared. I was worried that the yankees might be smart enough to send their own men out quietly. Then I heard whispered voices right in front of me. That made me jump, though no one could see it. I didn’t want to end up in Camp Douglas or worse because of some foolish midnight skylarking. They were close too. I kept hearing bird noises but now could not be sure if the yanks were making them as well as us. I kept hearing what sounded like tall grass blowing in the breeze, or someone moving through it, even though I knew there wasn’t any grass like that in the forest. My teeth were chattering and my heart was pounding in my ears.
Then I heard a loud theatrical cough. Damn. Were the yankees using our own tricks? Should I run back a ways? What followed was a whispered “Todd!” It was Steven and Dave. They had met up in the dark & somehow ended up right in front of me. That’s what I’d been hearing.
We fell back a few yards and I got brave again. I shouted into the darkness “Hey yanks! I want my newspaper back!” Dave shouted “Company into line! As skirmishers take intervals!” Then we started yelling all sorts of nonsense orders in high girlish voices, throwing in the bird noises, the taunts and everything we could think of while we threw stones into the air in their direction that came crashing down through the leaves. Nothing from the other side. We couldn’t get them to answer, much less fire.
So our plan was wrecked. We fell back across the clearing. I’d had had the shit scared half out of me by my own boys, so it was still fun. Our pickets hailed us after we were already behind them, with the same bird noises we’d been making, which confused us for a moment. They’d been listening to the whole affair.
When we came back to camp I found I was soaked through with sweat. I shucked down to just my trousers and laid under the arbor in the heat trying to cool off and fall asleep. It took forever.
Well, we are due to be relieved and march back 2 or 3 miles. It looked sure to rain yesterday but the storm passed us by. There was a fair sized fire in the woods along the road behind us last night. Company E most likely started it when clearing their muskets as they were the only ones on the road last night as far as I know. All in all this has been an unusual experience up on the picket line. It’s someone else’s turn now.
We came into the trash strewn reserve camp this afternoon in a cloud of dust & threw down out traps. We make it a jolly place but it is sluttish.
It is late. 2:30 A.M. I expect. Men are asleep throughout the woods around me. I can barely see to write by a candle stub. Can’t much sleep myself so I will scribble for a bit. Everything we do over the past 3 wks. or so seems to take on the aspect of a comic opera. Braxton Bragg is not fit to carry guts to a bear. I wish he would carry guts to a bear. Chickamauga was a victory but it was a mess. We should have bagged them whole, but we didn’t.
Night is warm, just shy of miserable.
Company was formed in the dark after rations - meager, no coffee - were issued, and we were sent out in some ridiculously complicated rotation to build obstructions and works. Our platoon headed out down a trail in the dark, feeling our way. Sam was in front of me weaving and stumbling as he went. “Hole.” “Stump.”
We pulled up to a section of trail where we built an obstruction in the form of a roughly piled fence laid across the trail with another fence just behind it. The ends of each fence were staggered so as to thwart any push by the yankees.
We tried to fell small trees by candle light but soon built a fire between the obstructions in order to see what we were swinging at. All our section had was a felling axe. We chopped and dragged wood in the flickering light and came back to camp with all of our fingers and toes, weaving our way back down the trail to the sound of axes ringing through the woods behind us, and the occasional popping of far off pickets.
We lay down on the ground near the fire and were asleep in an instant. In the next instant we were being awakened again in the dark and sent out again for more pioneer work. Back up the dark winding trail. “Hole.” “Stump.” “Rock.”
Soon, a faint glow could be seen ahead of us, reflecting off the foliage of the trees. As we drew closer I could see a fire burning on the ground. Then another. It soon became apparent that small bonfires at about 3 rod intervals stretched off down the line in either direction into the distance. There was the usual confusion as we stumbled about in the dark and soon we set about dragging logs into a line in front of the fires, which had been built so that we could see what we were doing. I stoked the fire my section was working in front of, throwing handfuls of dead leaves onto the coals which would flare up handsomely for a few seconds. The light would reach out into the woods where I could see enough to scavenge more wood laying on the ground to keep the fire going.
Somehow there were but two axes for the six men in our mess, so once the deadfall had been dragged in there was a fair amount of standing around in the dark making suggestions to those swinging the axes. Then the axe man would tire and get in line with the others for the “windy work”, suggesting to the new axe swinger a better way to do it.
Trees were felled and stacked. I found two large trees that had fallen to the ground that weren’t too rotten. Most of the section made ready to pick the first one up to carry to the works when Sam said “What about copperheads.” They like to hide under just such objects. We decided in a hurry that it would be better to leave those two until daylight.
I threw more leaves onto the fire and dashed out for more deadfall for firewood, which was getting scarce. Every small branch laying on the ground looked like a copperhead after that.
Eventually we were relieved and moved back to the reserve again. We had done our share in the middle of the night. I was surprised no one was hit by an axe in the dark. As we filed into camp it looked like silent black goblins were passing in front of the camp fire, throwing wild shadows. But it was only us. I laid down in the dirt with my head on my bedroll, in line with the rest of the section. T.J. came stamping up, sat down and said “Which one is that.” No one answered as the question did not make sense. “Which one is what.” I asked. He answered “To hell with you all. I’m going to sleep.” He hurled himself to the ground as much as a sitting man can, and spoke no more. Everyone followed suit directly.
October 11, 1863
Well, there is a live rooster with the company. I mention it because this morning at about 4:00 it performed its duty and started to crow. “Er er er er errr!” The sound tore the sleep right out of me, but I started to drift pleasantly off again. “Er er er er errr!” He was tethered about 5 feet away. He was tethered about 5 feet away from everyone pretty much. “Shut up!” “Er er er er errr!” “Kick it!” “Kill it!” “Er er er er errr!” “Throw a shoe at him!” “Chicken for breakfast!” “Er er er er errr!” “Ah!” No need for a bugler.
I’m not sure when the rooster made his appearance, but I discovered his presence last night when I heard a “Bigack!” coming out of the darkness near the campfire after we had returned from one of our pioneer tricks. Every few minutes someone would step on him in the dark and he would make that sound. I suppose this morning was his pay back for getting stepped on all night. He’s a tenacious fellow, has been named Kenton, and may survive as a mascot. I have been talking to him as he struts around on his tether, and throwing him peanuts.
We were ordered back up to the works to dig. Better than doing it in the dark. Roll was taken. The corporals fell out to issue picks and shovels. As Jay was leaving to do this I was inspired to tell him to snatch my cup from the bivouac so we could boil some coffee while we were on the line, as I‘d gotten a poke full from the sutler yesterday. When we got up to the line I realized that I had the cup but not the coffee. I engineered an unauthorized canteen detail as there was water about ½ a mile back, and the route would take me back past our bivouac where the rio was. Off I went, a relatively free man for a brief season.
At the well, a couple of cavalrymen rode up. They said they had been out between the lines, and that to our right there was a regular compliment of pickets on both sides staring at each other and popping off now & again, but that in front of us the pickets had wandered forward without their muskets for a look around. I traded some peppermint sticks to the cavalrymen for some coffee they had traded from the Yankees, then I headed back up.
I dropped the canteens, which the boys were glad to have, then wondered where mine had gone. No one had picked it up. Now I had the coffee and the cup, but no water. And more importantly, no water later either. Hell. I marched back to the bivouac, found the canteen laying next to my haversack where I had left it when I dug out the rio, talked to Kenton for a minute, gave him some more peanuts and headed back up for a 3rd time. In this way I neatly missed doing any digging.
A section of breastworks had been dug out & shoveled onto the logs we’d dragged up last night. Most of the company had gone to sleep on the ground or in the works. I went to building up the fire. Sam brought me a small rotten stump which worked quite well. I crushed the beans in my tin cup with a bayonet and boiled up some A1 coffee.
I was sitting in the works writing this, when I looked out into the woods in front of us, and saw a flash of blue. A yankee was coming up through the trees. I grabbed a musket, pointed it at him and yelled “Yankees! Right in front of us!” The rest of the chaps seemed unconcerned. Someone said “He’s bringing us our liver.” The yankee approached unarmed and climbed over the works. He looked to be about 18, seemed to be an affable, wize chap. He would have fit right in with us were it not for the blue coat and the fact that he’s an invader. He produced the liver and started chatting with the others. He said he was from Kansas. He said he’d like to visit Alabama someday. I piped in that once we win the war he can travel anywhere he likes, and that once we take Washington perhaps we’ll swing over to Kansas for a visit. I was baiting him but he didn’t bite. As I said: wize.
Well, now the bottom was out of the tub as far as fraternizing with the enemy was concerned. I had missed the news that we were trading with them while taking an hour and ½ to make a cup of coffee.
I headed down the ridge a piece with Phillip & Steven to see what was happening. As soon as we came out of the tree line we saw 2 yankees with their goods spread out on the ground like a couple of arabs. Seeing how it was done I did likewise. Soon I had traded an old Daily Rebel and some dried out old leaf for more coffee and a small hunk of cheeze. It was a windfall for me, and for the yankee too apparently. It was certainly strange.
In the clearing there was all kinds of trading of this sort, and little groups of unarmed men were strolling around like it was a Sunday promenade. Braxton Bragg would shit his trousers if he saw what was going on down here. Of course, he doesn’t know it’s happening. We’re not sure what he does know.
There were a couple of citizen sharps offering roulette, poker & whiskey. One of the sharps said, about the roulette, “Somebody always wins.” I asked him if his name was Somebody. He said “No, my name’s not Somebody. One of us wins every time.” I asked him what he meant by “us”. he said “One of you.” I asked if that meant he wouldn’t be dealing, and he moved off to solicit some other prospects. I found out later that, sure enough, he had lots of games to offer and always won each one in the end.
My little group continued roaming down in front of the line, walking to our right. Here came a little group of yankees who touched their caps and said good afternoon. There came a negro trotting by on a horse, all rigged up like a banker. A strange day.
Then off in the distance I saw three women in hoops standing together near a tent. I would sooner have expected an afternoon meteor shower. I personally made a bee line for these feminine forms as if drawn by a magnet. I was told by passing groups that they were whores, but I didn’t care. I wanted just to stand near them.
There were a lot of yankees flaxing around in that area. I was on my guard in case the wind should suddenly change & we’d have to do some tall running, but no one was armed.
I strode right up to the women, took off my cap, then felt a fool for gawking. They were beautiful and finely dressed. They looked like they had just stepped from the parlor onto the lawn. A body would not have known they were cyprians if they were walking down the street. They weren’t like the wretches we saw in Chattanooga. This group had left Nashville, were on their way to Atlanta & had stopped in at this bizarre scene along the way. I know that whores follow the armies, but it was odd to see them right between the two.
I had an opening statement prepared, which was “How much would it cost just to look at you.” One of them flicked open her fan, looked at me and said “That was a fine compliment.” Not really. It saddened me to see them reduced to such a state, but still they were lovely and they were standing right there. Godey’s plate #2, in the middle, said regarding me “This one doesn’t look like he can afford it. He’s awfully dirty.” I said “Well ma’am, we are engaged in a dirty business.” Then I turned obliquely, put on my cap, pretended to see something in the distance, turned front, took my cap off again, fiddled with it, and after what seemed to be about ½ an hour said something weak about not judging by appearances and just because I’m filthy doesn’t mean I’m light pocketed, which of course I was. I don’t know why she singled me out. I wasn’t any dirtier than the others. I decided it was because she liked me best.
Then their ponce or pimp or whatever they’re called approached & started hawking his human wares. It was more than I could afford and I didn’t want that anyhow. I gathered myself up and asked how much a kiss on the cheek would cost me. This caught him by surprise I reckon. He said he didn’t know. I proposed 5 cents. He said 10. I said 10 cents for 2 cheeks. He said one. Plate #2 asked which one of us wanted to give them a kiss. I said “I do.” and pulled out my wallet. She said “Alright.” The cit ponce said “Which one do you want to kiss?” I chose Godey’s #2 and pulled out a 10 cent stamp and asked who I should pay. She pointed to poncey and said “Him.” I said “I was afraid of that.” I would have liked to give him a different kind of stamp. I handed him the 10 cents, stepped up to where she was sitting, leaned down and gave her a perfect little spark on the cheek. It was all I would have wanted and it made my spirits soar. I think it made the ponce’s spirits sore, as she’d given me her cheek and I’d given him some chin.
It was getting toward 4:00, when we were supposed to be relieved on the line. Feeling quite satisfied, I floated over to Phillip and Steven and we started back. We ran into Jay and T.J. heading in the other direction. They were going to a stream which was a short piece past where the cyprians were installed, to take a bath in a stream. They looked like they could use it, as Jay was clutching a bottle and sweating a good bit. He looked like he was walking against a heavy wind, even though the air was still. Saying that T.J. was in a state of intoxication isn’t even worth writing down, but it looked like they had both overshot the mark a bit with the whiskey they had traded for.
When we got back up to the line everyone but the sentries was asleep, either in the works or sprawled on the ground behind them. The relief came up a few minutes later, commanded by Capt. Hicks. They arrived in formation and did the whole Halt Front Right Dress business. Capt. Hicks came forward to find most of us asleep and our commanding officer -T.J.- absent. Capt. Hicks surveyed the scene dourly. We woke up Sgt. Clark, who was passed out in the works drooling on himself. He woke to see an officer standing over him wanting to know what was happening here. He struggled to his feet, tried to look military, and answered the captain’s questions as best he could. We all sort of wandered back down the trail to our camp in the reserve. Well, those of us not still out trading, drinking, gambling, bathing or whoring in the presence of the enemy headed back. The rest will likely show up soon. I managed to carry a musket, a shovel and a cup of coffee all the way back. I was pretty impressed with myself there.
As we rounded the last bend of the trail I saw a pile of brown feathers scattered on the ground. It was clear that deliberations about keeping Kenton as a mascot had been terminated.
I have gone from having no coffee at all to having a good 5 issues worth; all procured from the yankees, the sutler and our cavalry, the three groups of people we like the least. The C.S. Gov’t lets the rich bastards at Atlanta drink coffee all day if they want to while we get nothing. There probably isn’t room left in the blockade runners with all the parasols and furniture they’re bringing in.
Shoes were issued to those who needed them. They are made of canvas with undyed leather reinforcements at the heel, toe and lace eyelets. The soles are of wood, with a leather hinge just behind the toes which allows the shoe to flex. They are strange looking but vastly superior to bare feet. We also rec’d socks & shirts from a ladies aid society. I got a pair of socks, and took a shirt, as mine is pretty torn up, but gave it to Matt who it would fit a little better.
We look a sight. About half of us are wearing trousers from home. The other half have taken issue trousers of a blue and white weave that look like they were cut from coverlets. They are already threatening to fray and rip. Some of us wear jackets from home, some have shredded Alabama issue jackets. Some have the new issue with blue collars & cuffs. My jacket from Alabama can stand on its own & has shrunk 2 sizes. I’m about due for a new one. Add to that these new brown & white canvas shoes and we look like a shipwrecked circus. In two months we will surely look different again.
It has been cooling off a little. We hear thunder in the distance and we are expecting some rain. The fact that it has cooled a bit still leaves it hot as blazes. My forehead is a bit raw from wiping it all day with my handkerchief.
I seem to have forgotten to mention that I received a small box and a letter yesterday in the mail from Mrs. Greene. I was the only one to receive a box. I handed out ginger cookies and peppermint sticks to the boys. I also rec’d a pipe & thread I had asked for as well as a set of dominoes, a comb, soap, candles, buttons. It was a bounty and some of it came in very convenient for trading today.
Jay blew his nose on a piece of an old sack and threw it on the ground. Jon picked it up and tied it around his head to absorb sweat, but quickly removed it when he was informed of its former use.
Dinner was Kenton stew with issue potatoes thrown in. I baked my potatoes in the coals, shared them with Phillip.
T.J. finally has a pair of lieutenant’s bars on his collar, courtesy of me. He lurched over to Jay in the dark and asked him to do it, but Jay was too corned. I was sitting next to Jay and happened to have my housewife out, about to wing together a bag for my new dominoes before it got too dark to see the stitches. I said I’d sew the bars on. It was a bother, but the next time I need a favor from him I’ll have some pull, as the reason why he should do the favor will be sewn on his coat.
Jay & T.J. decided to go visit the cyprians. T.J.’s strategy earlier today was “What if we pooled our money for one.” I asked “So one of us can get a rollover? And tell the rest of us how it was?” He looked into the distance and said “I didn’t think that far.” Somehow he and Jay were running with some version of that approach. They’ve counted out their money. I hope they saved some of it for mercury treatments in about 2 months. Jay borrowed my comb. Combed hair wasn’t going to do much to offset the rest of his appearance but I didn’t see any reason to point it out. They are back now, and strangely quiet on the subject of their visit.
Fiddling and singing commenced and went on for most of the night. We have 3 fiddlers in the company and they took turns on the fiddle we’ve been toting with us.
It’s particularly hot where my ground cloth is as it’s near the fire, but the company is packed in so tight that there’s nowhere for me to move to.
Company E was camped next to us but pulled back to the grand reserve or someplace else. I do not know why.
Well, right after I finished T.J.’s bars the thread slipped out of my blasted needle and I couldn’t get it back in by candle light. I had to switch to some black thread I had. The domino bag is sewn up now. I would have started losing them straight away without a place to put them.
October 12, 1863
Up at first light. Last night, Steven, Dave & I had apparently drunk too much of that yankee coffee and seem to have dared each other into going out past the picket line to see if we could stir up some trouble. We had been bragging earlier that we would do this and got the vague approval of Capt. Owens, as long as there was already any picket firing going on. The chin was that there was an official truce on.
By the time Steven really wanted to go do it I had thought better of the idea but went along w. private misgivings. It worked out alright though. We moved through the sleeping camp and up to the line, ran our own pickets and crossed the clearing in the moonlight.
The plan was to move through the woods in their front, see if we could provoke a shot, then fire a shot over the yankees’ heads, move a few yards, fire another, then head back to our own lines. We just wanted to have a little fun, keep them nervous & let them know that we were good for more than just trading them stale tobacco.
We sat at the edge of the opposite tree line and listened for them. Then we saw a pinpoint of light through the trees. Some fool on the yankee picket line had a lantern lit and was walking around with it, so we could tell where they were. We could hear talking and laughing. It seemed to me that they were changing their sentries.
We spread out at about 2 rod intervals and moved forward without too much care about being quiet, as we wanted them to know we were there. After a minute or so the other two started making pigeon noises, followed by owl noises, followed by bird noises of birds that don’t exist. I’m not a good whistler so I kicked in with a loud sound in my throat that sounded like a cross between a buzzard and a tree toad. Finally someone on the yankee line said “Halt.” We just kept up with the bird noises and crashing around in the dark and heard nothing more from the enemy.
By and by I heard movement in the dark ahead of me and hunkered behind a tree. I couldn’t rightly tell where my companions were. I started getting scared. I was worried that the yankees might be smart enough to send their own men out quietly. Then I heard whispered voices right in front of me. That made me jump, though no one could see it. I didn’t want to end up in Camp Douglas or worse because of some foolish midnight skylarking. They were close too. I kept hearing bird noises but now could not be sure if the yanks were making them as well as us. I kept hearing what sounded like tall grass blowing in the breeze, or someone moving through it, even though I knew there wasn’t any grass like that in the forest. My teeth were chattering and my heart was pounding in my ears.
Then I heard a loud theatrical cough. Damn. Were the yankees using our own tricks? Should I run back a ways? What followed was a whispered “Todd!” It was Steven and Dave. They had met up in the dark & somehow ended up right in front of me. That’s what I’d been hearing.
We fell back a few yards and I got brave again. I shouted into the darkness “Hey yanks! I want my newspaper back!” Dave shouted “Company into line! As skirmishers take intervals!” Then we started yelling all sorts of nonsense orders in high girlish voices, throwing in the bird noises, the taunts and everything we could think of while we threw stones into the air in their direction that came crashing down through the leaves. Nothing from the other side. We couldn’t get them to answer, much less fire.
So our plan was wrecked. We fell back across the clearing. I’d had had the shit scared half out of me by my own boys, so it was still fun. Our pickets hailed us after we were already behind them, with the same bird noises we’d been making, which confused us for a moment. They’d been listening to the whole affair.
When we came back to camp I found I was soaked through with sweat. I shucked down to just my trousers and laid under the arbor in the heat trying to cool off and fall asleep. It took forever.
Well, we are due to be relieved and march back 2 or 3 miles. It looked sure to rain yesterday but the storm passed us by. There was a fair sized fire in the woods along the road behind us last night. Company E most likely started it when clearing their muskets as they were the only ones on the road last night as far as I know. All in all this has been an unusual experience up on the picket line. It’s someone else’s turn now.
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