MILITARY: Sabre Strokes of the Pennsylvania Dragoons in the War of 1861-1865 - Chapter 21 Contributed for use in the USGenWeb Archives by Judy Banja Copyright 2005. All rights reserved. http://www.usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://www.usgwarchives.net/pa/pafiles.htm http://www.usgwarchives.net/pa/1pa/1picts/dornblaser/sabre-strokes.htm ________________________________________________ SABRE STROKES of the PENNSYLVANIA DRAGOONS in the WAR OF 1861-1865. INTERSPERSED WITH PERSONAL REMINISCENCES By T. F. DORNBLASER PENNSYLVANIA DRAGOONS. 249 CHAPTER XXI. HOMEWARD BOUND. IN the early part of August, 1865, the "Seventh" was ordered to concentrate at Macon, and prepare their rolls for muster-out. This was welcome news for our boys. As soon as the war was over, we longed to return to the quiet pursuits of civil life. Some of us never had any particular relish for military service, and all of us were now thoroughly tired and disgusted with the continuous jarring in the social and domestic circles of the South. Several regiments of colored troops had been organized out of the able-bodied negroes gathered by Wilson's raid. These troops were well drilled. The commissioned officers were white men. George W. Smith, of Company "E," received a Lieutenant's commission in one of these regiments, and was afterwards promoted to the rank of Captain. These colored troops were now ready to take our place, and let the old veterans return to their homes. To us it was glad tidings; but to the average Southerner it was equal to the torments of Dives. This Lazarus, who had lain at their gate full of sores, is suddenly transformed into a stern sentinel, armed cap-a-pie, demanding from his former master a 250 SABRE STROKES. humane and courteous behavior toward the colored brethren. Surely "God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform." After completing the rolls, to date from August twenty-third, 1865, the regiment was ordered to report at Harrisburg for muster-out. With light hearts and flying colors, we marched through Macon to the depot, and boarded the train - homeward bound. We passed the graves of comrades Foster, Else, McDonald, and Caldwell at Lovejoy's Station; ten miles north we swept over the battlefield of Jonesboro, and at mid-day we landed in the Union depot at Atlanta. The depot, which had been destroyed by Sherman's rear-guard, was being rebuilt. The boys, while waiting for the train, in order to shelter themselves from the vertical rays of a scorching sun, began to build sheds by means of a pile of boards lying near the railroad track. It was soon discovered that beneath this pile of lumber were concealed several kegs of brandy. A general rush was made with canteens, tin-cups and spoons. The head of one keg was knocked in, and as many canteens as the keg would hold were immersed in the brandy. Lieutenant Hayes watched the proceedings a few moments, and discovering the other two kegs, he leaped into the midst of the crowd, and putting on PENNSYLVANIA DRAGOONS. 251 the strength of Hercules, he seized one keg after another, hurling them upon the iron track with such violence as to burst the hoops, and spill the contents on the thirsty earth. The Surgeon urged the Lieutenant to spare one keg for the sick; but it was too late, the hoops were already burst, and it was by no means certain that the sick would have gotten it if it had been spared. The infuriated crowd rushed around the curly-headed Lieutenant with clenched fists, denouncing his wasteful prodigality with unnumbered threats and curses, while he stood bare-headed in the midst of them, calm and resolute, saying: "Boys, you have fought like men, I want you to go home like men!" The storm of indignation gradually subsided. The train started for Chattanooga, but before we reached the first station one poor fellow, who had the start of Hayes and got too much in his canteen, became intoxicated, fell overboard in passing from one car to the other, and was instantly crushed to death. Before we reached the Chattahoochee river, the boys began to congratulate the Lieutenant, declaring that the spilling of that brandy was the best thing he ever did in his life. We hurried northward over the historic battle-ground of the Atlanta campaign, passing around the foot of Kenesaw, leaving Pine and Lost mountain to the left and rear, on through Big Shanty, Allatoona, Resaca, Dalton, 252 SABRE STROKES. Chickamauga, Mission Ridge, Chattanooga, all these places calling back memories of battle, of night-watching, of cannonading, and the unwelcome death-rattle of musketry. In Chattanooga, we took a last look at the brow of Lookout Mountain, where Hooker's corps fought the enemy, and planted the standard of victory above the clouds. On the left, the eye takes in the undulating range of Missionary Ridge, where the victorious columns of Sherman and Thomas charged the enemy's entrenched lines on the summit of the ridge, and drove Bragg's broken battalions beyond the bloody field of Chickamauga. Rounding the base of Lookout Mountain, we crossed the silvery Tennessee at Bridgeport, then on through Stevenson, Tullahoma, Murfreesboro, over the memorable battle-field of "Stone River," through Lavergne to Nashville, passing by the soldiers' cemetery, in which more than a dozen of our fallen comrades lay buried. From Nashville we sped by rail to Harrisburg, where we lay in camp one week, waiting to be mustered out. Our "battle-flag" was returned to the Governor, according to the promise of Colonel Wynkoop, made in front of the Capitol, four years before; the old flag was worn and tattered, but not a single mark of dishonor sullied its folds. First Lieutenant Hayes, being in command, was responsible for all the government property in the PENNSYLVANIA DRAGOONS. 253 Company. It was no easy matter for his private secretary to account for the loss of horses, bridles, saddles, spurs, carbines, revolvers and sabers. As long as we had battles it was easy to account for such losses; but since Hayes took command we had no battle, and the only way to account for the missing articles, was by presenting to the proper officers sworn statements that the horses either died or were stolen, and that the other articles missing were unaccountably and unavoidably lost. Hayes was required to make oath to a dozen or more of these "mule and halter" statements before he could draw his pay. Before he got entirely through with this red-tape business, he became disgusted, and made the remark, rather impatiently, that "he had a mind to take it out in swearing!" The Lieutenant, willing to practice what he preached, determined to take home with him his colored man, Henry. The writer, taken suddenly by a freak of generosity, concluded to adopt an orphan boy who had followed us from Macon to Harrisburg. His father was a rebel soldier, and was killed at Vicksburg. His mother died during the war. He was hatless, bare-footed, ragged and dirty. His hair was matted, his eyes and ears were full of soot. A good part of the way he rode on top of box-cars near the engine, and was smoked into a sooty mulatto. After a thorough scrubbing in the canal, with soap and towel, and a new suit 254 SABRE STROKES. from head to toe-nail, he was scarcely recognizable as the same boy. The writer was very proud as he walked the streets of Harrisburg with his Confederate orphan "Henry," and imagined he could see him in the oncoming time rise up and call his paternal friend blessed. At midnight the writer took the train at Harrisburg, with the baggage and the two "Henrys," leaving Hayes behind to swear out some supplementary statements. Before our train left the depot, my orphan boy slipped out of the car and strolled about the depot, and before I could find him the train pulled out with the other "Henry" and the baggage, leaving us to the painful experience of seeing the rear of the train switch out of sight. Of course we supposed "Henry," being without a ticket, would be thrown off with "bag and baggage" at the first station on the other side of the river. We took the next train two hours after, and posting myself on the rear platform, I kept out a strict watch for "Henry No. 1." At Williamsport we telegraphed along the line, but no trace could be found of the missing "darkey." With bitter disappointment we boarded the train for Lock Haven, and on nearing the depot we saw this veritable darkey sitting on a-pile of baggage on the platform, grinning and laughing as if his sides would break. We inquired how he came to be there; said he, "The conductor wanted to put him PENNSYLVANIA DRAGOONS. 255 off at the first station, but he contended that the owner of this baggage was on the train somewhere; but finally the conductor determined to put him off," and the darkey pulled out his money and paid his fare. "So you knew where you were going to stop, Henry ?" "O yes, sir, I gets dat from the Lieutenant before I gets on the train." This honest colored man worked faithfully on the farm for one year, and then obtained permission to return to his wife and little ones in the State of Georgia. The other "Henry," was disposed to be a little refractory. The narrow limits of Nittany Valley did not afford sufficient range for his roving disposition. During the same fall the State Fair was held at Williamsport, and my boy "Henry," quietly took his bundle and started for the Fair. We traced him as far as Lock Haven, where he took the train for Williamsport. At this point we lost all trace of my Confederate orphan, and any information concerning my runaway boy would be hailed with joy. We have now reviewed, in these brief chapters, the stirring history and the rugged experience of the "Pennsylvania Dragoons" during four long years of civil war. We have not taken time from our other labors, to re-write a single chapter in this checkered history. We have told the story "simply, as to a little child." The learned may criticise, 256 SABRE STROKES. and critics may scratch - if we can secure the attention and meet the approval of the sons and daughters of the veterans, we shall be satisfied. The surviving members of the "Old Seventh" are now scattered from Maine to California, and from the Lakes to the Rio Grande. All are engaged in the great battle of life; the issues of which, if recorded, would furnish a far more interesting volume than the one just completed. The success or failure, the glory or shame of each individual, will not be known until the final roll-call, when each soldier shall face the record of his deeds, and receive recompense according to his deserts. In the Providence of God, we find ourselves again in the midst of friends, drinking with them the cup of gladness and sadness! Joy and tears struggle for the mastery in many a home that has felt the cruel touch of war. Comrades, our joy is full! We are not home on furlough; we are home to stay - thank God, home to stay!