Rambling Anecdotes

From the historical novel, "Corporal Si Klegg and his 'Pard.'"

"Corporal Si Klegg and his 'Pard'" is a novelised account of the average Civil War soldier. It was written by 65th Ohio Infantry Lt. Col. Wilbur F. Hinman in 1887 and from what I know of the Civil War soldier, is pretty accurate. On page 254 is a note by the author in which he describes a future president of the United States of America.

During a long midsummer march, the writer saw a robust brigadier-general, who was afterward President of the United States, engaged in hunting the pediculus, with his nether garment spread out upon his knees in the popular style. It was just after the army had bivouacked for the night at the end of a hard day's march. The soldiers had no tents, nor anything else to speak of - except graybacks. These were exceedingly numerous and active. The general had wandered out back of his headquarters, and, squatting behind a large tree, applied his energies to the work of "skirmishing," while the setting sun cast a mellow glow over the touching scene. Not far way, behind the other big trees, were two of his staff officers similarly engaged - cracking jokes and graybacks.
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"Skirmishing" was a soldier's term not only for fighting in open order but also for pest control. Grayback or pediculus is body lice. The general mentioned is likely Grant.
 
Sea Grammar

Sometimes its good that some traditions die. Here's some salty talk from the Seventeenth Century.

The Lyar. The Liar is to hold his place but for a weeke, and hee that is first taken with a lie, every Munday is so proclaimed at the maine mast by a generall cry, a Liar, a Liar, a Liar, hee is under the Swabber, and onely to keepe cleane the beake head, and chaines.
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So, what is a Swabber you ask?

The Swabber. The Swabber is to wash and keepe cleane the ship and maps.
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Be nice to your men

Here's a story of an overbearing officer and the men he chastised:

...While engaged in another artillery encounter, our detachment received a very peremptory and officious order from Major Shoemaker, commanding the artillery of the division. My friend and former messmate, W. G. Williamson,now a lieutenant of engineers, having no duty in that line to perform, had hunted us up, and, with his innate gallantry, was serving as a cannoneer at the gun. Offended at Shoemaker's insolent and ostentatious manner, we answered him as he deserved. Furious at such impudence and insubordination, he was almost ready to lop our heads off with his drawn sword, when Williamson informed him that he was a commissioned officer and would see him at the devil before he would submit to such uncalled-for interference.
'If you are a commissioned officer,' Shoemaker replied, 'why are you here, working at a gun?'
'Because I had not been assigned to other duty,' was Williamson's reply, 'and I chose to come back, for the time being, with my old battery.'
'Then I order you under arrest for your disrespect to a superior officer!' said Shoemaker.
The case was promptly reported to General Jackson, and Williamson was promptly released. The bombastic major had little idea that among the men he was so uselessly reprimanding was a son of General [Robert E.] Lee, as well as Lieutenant Williamson, who was a nephew of Gen. Dick Garnett, who was later killed in Pickett's charge at Gettysburg.
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One time Lee's son was in a begrimed state when he saw his father and called out to him. The great general failed to recognize the common soldier who hailed him. Lee's son the pleaded, "Father, do you not recognize me?" Opps.
 
Civil War Vernacular

There were many names, words and phrases in the free-and-easy language of soldiers that were universal. It seemed as though some of them had their origin spontaneously, and at the same time, in armies hundreds of miles apart; or, starting at one point, they were carried upon the winds to the remotest camps. Whenever the flag floated, the staff of army life was called "hardtack." Its adjunct, bacon, was known by that name only on the requisitions and books of the commissaries. An officer's shoulder-straps were 'sardine-boxes' and his sowrd was a "toad-stabber" or "cheese-knife." A brigade commander was a "jidadier-brindle'" camp rumors were "grapevines;" marching was "hoofing it;" troops permanently stationed in the rear were known as "feather-bed soldiers;" and raw recruits were "fresh-fish." Among scores of expressions, many of them devoid of sense or meaning except as they were used by the soldiers, were "Grab a root:" "Hain't got the sand;" "Git Thar', Eli;" "Here's yer mule;" "Same old rijiment only we've drawed new clothes;" "Go for 'em;" "Hunt yer holes;" "Bully fer you." The word "bully" - more expressive than elegant - entered largely into the army vernacular; it seemed to "fit" almost anything.
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As far as I can tell, "fish" is still used today with reference to newly arrived inmates. The term "fresh-fish" was used as far back as the American Revolution. The only other term that is still used today that I'm aware of is grapevine.
 
Well I remember My Grandfather saying he was going to "Hoof it to town" on "Shanks Mare". "Ain't got the sand" is still used some places.
 
Interesting turns of phrase, Gary.

". . . the staff of army life was called "hartack." Clearly, this is a minor corruption of “hard tack,” the VERY hard and frequently weevily ration biscuit – really, more like a thick, unsalted cracker. It was standard fare aboard Royal Navy vessels in the early 1800s, as referenced in the writings of C. S. Forester (the Horatio Hornblower series.)

“Grab a root” is likely a shortening of the phrase, “Grab a root and growl.” I often heard in my mother's family, which came to East Texas from the Carolinas both before and after the War of Northern Aggression. It apparently originally referred to field bowel evacuation, with no privy handy. It came to mean that one should “buckle down” and complete an unpleasant but necessary task.

I never even thought of “Hunt your holes” as a particularly quaint turn of phrase. It is simply a heads up, warning that “We're about come under fire; find cover.” In the past couple of decades, I've heard it most often in the context of local politics. ;)

Best,
Johnny
 
St. Patrick's Day

My great-grandfather was a lumberjack in northern Michigan, where I live now. Not just a lumberjack, but an Axeman, begad! It's interesting to think he might have cleared the original forest right in my own back yard.

He was proud that he'd been an Axeman. He considered himself elite, and dressed as a lumberjack whenever he could for as long as he lived. I've thought of using that as part of a CAS persona, if I ever create one.

He was also proud that he was an Orangeman, a Protestant Irishman. Grandpa said his dad had to leave Canada and come to Michigan in the first place because the Green Irish were always trying to kill him.

But then Grandpa also said his father had to leave the lumber camps because he'd killed a man there. Great-Grandpa always had some mawkish poem on the wall of his bedroom, some poorly-written thing about an accidental death in lumbering. Grandpa thought that was Great-Grandpa's penance for an act of manslaughter. It could just have been that Great-Grandpa was Victorian. Those people were morbid.

In any case, Great-Grandpa ended up in Nebraska, where he was involved in one frontier gunfight, right out on the main street (so-called). I wrote about that in another post in this thread, long ago.

One year Great-Grandpa happened to be in Greely, Nebraska, on St. Patrick's Day. Now, to me, one of Great-Grandpa's most endearing qualities was a complete lack of sense about a number of matters. One would think that an Orangeman who had issues with the Green Irish from way back would not go into an Irish bar on St. Patrick's Day. But that's what Great-Grandpa did. Had a few belts of good whiskey, too.

The place was crowded with Green Irish toasting their patron saint. Great Grandpa, suitably lubricated, stood up in the middle of all that and shouted "To Hell with Saint Patrick! I'm as good a man as he ever was."

This statement was not well received.

In the midst of the ensuing discussion, Great Grandpa grabbed a leg from the broken pool table and therewith smote the Catholic foemen hip and thigh. He always claimed he was holding his own until they started throwing the pool balls at him. After that, he was happy enough when a couple of his friends burst in and held the enraged Irishmen back long enough for Great-Grandpa to get away.

I have often said that CAS is not authentic because of the number of guns involved. But there's also the issue of the type. Rifles would have been fairly common. Cheap pocket revolvers would have been. The big single-actions we all love were expensive, and usually illegal to carry in town plus hard to conceal, so I doubt they would have been commonly seen there at all.

But every store, bar, or sod hut would have had a shotgun stashed behind a door somewhere.

Or, in this case, under the seat of Great-Grandpa's wagon. Which was fortunate, because as he left Greely two men jumped out from hiding and tried to grab the reins of his drafthorse. Great-Grandpa fetched the shotgun from beneath the seat. This action reminded his attackers that they had pressing business to attend to elsewhere.

I don't know if he actually fired his gun on this occasion, but it would not have been like him to deny himself that pleasure.
 
Hafoc,
I missed your earlier post about the gunfight, suppose you could find it in your heart to post it again.

My grandfather used to talk about the local town Sheriff, that he was a hard man. now mind you this was in the late 1950's that the sheriff he was talking about was near the turn of the century.

My grandad dad told of the time when the train was blocking the main road in and out of town and the sheriff climbed aboard and asked the engineer to move the train so commerce could commence. There was some rift going on between the trainmen and the locals that my granddad didn't know about or remember, but what ensued pretty much ended it. The Engineer told the Sheriff in no uncertian terms what he could do, and the Sheriff thumb cocked his 45 and shot the engineer in the head killing him instantly, the fireman jumped ship, and the Sheriff just reached down, set the throttle and moved the train far enough to clear the tracks, climbed down, walked to the local undertaker and told him he had a customer in the cab of the train.

This happened in Redkey, Indiana, not in the wild, wild west.
 
Dragoon,

It's easy to find. It's Post #111 in this very thread, which puts it about halfway down Page 5. If it isn't showing up for you, I'll repost or PM it or something.
 
watered down...

We know how drug dealers cut their stuff and it stretches sales and profits. Well, it turns out that's nothing new. The ancient Greeks (think about the time of the Persian Wars and the Peloponnesian War) used to mix their wine with water before consuming it. One Spartan king, Cleomenes, is said to have gone mad after drinking Persian wine (unwatered wine - thus he became an alcoholic). Well, during the Fur Trade Era a distillery was opened in New Mexico by Simeon Turley. In 1836, Turley hired Charley Autobees, brother of Tom Tobin (mountain-man, scout, hunter), to be the first traveling whiskey salesman and sales was good. Packed in casks carried by mules (2 casks per mule), Charley would lead his mule train to Fort Lupton (25 miles NE of Denver) and Fort Vasquez (7 miles further north). There he would sell his cask for $4 a gallon. The traders would then water it down with river water and sell it for ten times that amount. Sometimes, because it was watered down too much, tobaccco was added to it for color and flavor. :barf: The business prospered until the Mexicans burned down the distillery and killed Turley (Jan. 20, 1847). It appears that the Mexicans were none too happy with the Mexican-American War, did not want to live under the Stars 'n Stripes, and tried to kill the Anglos. Well, they killed a bunch o' them (for which they were hanged) and in the process, burned down Turley's distillery.
 
19th Century SW frontier medicine

OK, I'm reading about Tom Tobin who was one of the mountainmen scouts of the Nineteenth Century. Apparently besides being adept at tracking, farming, hunting (game & people), he also picked up skills as a frontier doctor. Here are somethings out of the book (which I bought from the Pueblo Historical Society):

"...powdered sagebrush leaves were a remedy for diaper rash and any moist area chafing. Boil the sagebrush leaves in water and you have a strong disinfectant and body cleaning wash. A tea made from the twigs, bark and pods of the mesquite plant will inhibit diarrhea and other gastrointestinal tract inflammation, including ulcers and hemmorhoids. Boil just the mesquite pods for an eyewash that helps any conjunctivitis of any type and will cure pink eye in children or livestock. Then there is silver sage, which is not a true sage but a small wormwood that grows everywhere in the San Luis Valley. Grind up some silver sage leaves and twigs, place in a glass jar with enough Taos Lightning to cover, shake the jar every few days, and in about a week you have a tincture which, when diluted with twenty to thirty drops of cold water, will effectively retard acid indigestion. Make a simple tea from the silver sage leaves and the result is a strong diuretic and a mild laxative. And, always, there is the marveloous yerba mansa plant which can be used to treat infection of the mouth, lungs, and urinary tract. It is also an astringent and a diuretic, and is aspirin-like in its anti-inflammatory effects, which makes it effective for the treatment of arthritis. It is anti-bacterial and anti-fungal as well as an excellent first aid for abrasions, contusions; also yerba mansa will heal boils, cure athlete's foot and other fungus-type infections, including vaginitis. It is effective against gout, reduces fever, and makes a good enema or douche solution. This versatile herb is virtually a medicine chest in itself."
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I don't vouch for any of the above, but it's fun to read.
 
Don't let your sons grow up to be painters...

The following is quoted from Jessica Warner's "John the Painter." It is the story of a painter turned highwayman, who, hoping to achieve the recognition he believed he deserved, became an American Agent (terrorist) in England bent on destroying military installations like the Royal Dockyard at Portsmouth. He devised his own incendiary devices and attempted to start fires that would cripple England. Poor matches doomed his enterprise and after several attempts, he was caught and hung. It's a great look at the Scots in England and in America during the Colonial period and of the people in general. While not strictly a military book, Warner provides an excellent account of one man's struggle in the 18th Century.

"In the Middle Ages, only painters knew how to mix colors and apply them properly; by the eighteenth century, these skills had lost their specailist standing, and the trade faced competition from several directions. The biggest threat came from paint shops, which were starting to spring up in the larger towns. These shops were a threat because they could mix and sell paints at a fraction of the price charged by professional painters. ONe such shop was already operating in London by 1734, and its enterprising proprietor , Alexander Emerton, was only too happy to provide his customers with printed directions. With Emerton's paints and Emerton's little manual, homeowners were known to have "painted whole houses without the assistance or direction of a painter, which when examined by the best judges could not be distinguished from the work of a professional painter." Homewoners who did not wish to dirty their hands and clothes might hire common laborers to do the job instead. These, too, Emerton was only too happy to provide."

Thanks to entrepreneurs like Emerton, there was already a glut of professional painters by 1747, the year when Robert Campbell published his career guide for boys and their parents. As far as Campbell was concerned, "no parent ought to be so mad as to bind his child apprentice for seven years, to a branch that may be learned almost in as many hours, in which he cannot earn a subsistence when he got it, runs the risk of breaking his neck every day, and in the end turns out a mere blackguard." "This branch," he added, "is now at a very low ebb, on account of the methods practised by some colour-shops, who have set up horse-mills to grind the colours, and sell them to noblemen and gentlemen ready, mixed at a low price, and by the help of a few printed directions, a house may be painted by any common labourer at one third of the expence it would have cost before the mystery was made public." In 1761, the same year that Aitken was admitted to Heriot's, the trade was still hopelessly "overstocked," and parents were being discouraged from selecting it as a future occupation for their sons."
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Back in the Civil War...

General John Geary was an Alcade (mayor) in San Francisco before the war. He served in Sherman's Army.

I forgot which book I read it in but he got some of the boys pissed off. The boys pounced on him and pummeled him. Afterwards, they fled into the crowd. After recovering, an angry Geary demanded from the audience the identity of his assailants, but nobody saw anything. The American Citizen Soldier was quite a different man back then. Today the Army, Army Reserves and National Guard all receive the same boot camp training and the likelihood of a soldier hitting an officer is remote or if he does, he'll pay for it.
 
Passing inspection

Like today, soldiers of yesterday stood in formation and were inspected. An officer would pass along the ranks and inspect the cleanliness of the soldier, his uniform, his accoutrements and his weapon.

Well, in the British Army of the Napoleonic era, one soldier was very fond of his drink. So fond, that when he ran out of money, he sold his shoes to pay for his liquid refreshments. Ordered to stand in formation for inspection, he knew his white feet would stand out and draw attention to him. Questions would follow and determine that he had sold his shoes. He could then be lashed as a penalty. Well, our brave hero was no slow thinker. He applied soot to his feet, blackening them for the parade.

It didn't quite work. He was caught. It was memorialized. Nice try anyway.
 
I'll pass on the canned pigeon

The following is taken from page 147 of Mike Pride and Mark Travis's, "My Brave Boys: To War with Colonel Cross & the Fighting Fifth."
While awaiting this luxury, the men supplemented their diets with food from the sutlers - sometimes with comic results. Several officers, including Captain Jacob Keller, a Prussian immigrant who had come to Claremont just a dozen years earlier, bought tins of preserved pigeon meat.. The other officers opened their tins, gagged at the first whiff, and returned the spoiled meat to the sutler. That night, as the officers drank hot toddies and told stories around the campfire, one of them related how he had gone into Keller's tent and seen empty pigeon cans there. He asked Keller if he had eaten the pigeons, and Keller acknowledged that he had. "Why, Keller!" the officer said. "They were bad. Didn't you know it?" Keller replied, "Fy, no. I thought dey was a little fwild." The officers around the campfire burst into laughter.
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The book is a good read about Col. Edward Cross and the 5th New Hampshire Volunteer Infantry in the Civil War. Cross, only a colonel, was commanding a brigade that Hancock ordered (when he ordered Caldwell's Division) into the Wheatfield at Gettysburg to save Sickle's Corps. Hancock promised Cross, "This day will bring you a star." Cross replied, "No, general, this is my last battle." Instead of the customary red bandana wrapped around his head, he wore a black one. The color alarmed the men of the 5th. In the heat of battle, Cross was shot in the stomach, the minie punching through his bowels before exiting from his back. Mortally wounded, Cross fell and was carried off the field to die.

Note to self: don't send canned pigeons to the troops in the sandbox.

Also from the book:
In the last five months of 1863, nearly six hundred men joined its ranks. Many of these were bounty soldiers, and most proved unreliable. The law allowed draftees t pay other men to take their places. As Livermore explained it, the prices quickly rose, and a 'class of 'substitute borkers' sprang up, who imported men from other states, chiefly from New York City; who enlised for moeny.' Because the brokers had no interest in the quality of the substitutes, 'there came out to us crowds of disreputable rascals whose determination it was to desert at the earliest opportunity, as well as idiots and cripples whom these brokers foisted upon us by collusion with the medical and enlistment of officers." The men built a fence around the camp in Concord to try to keep the recruits in. Hapgood recorded the first desertion in his diary on August 27, writing that the general was 'mighty mad about it, and justly too'; desertions soon became so frequent that the colonel seldom saw fit to record them. During the siege of Petersburg a year later, so many deserted to the enemy that the Rebels put up a sign on their works reading "Headquarters, 5th New Hampshire volunteers. RECRUITS WANTED."
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That's from page 254. It's an excellent read. Check it out!
 
On April 3rd, 1677, at the British fort in Bombay, India, the storekeeper decided to send up some gunpowder to dry on the North East bastion. Meanwhile, at the guard house, a certain Corporal Staunton had a sense of humour and, took:

‘an old bandileer and filled it with with wild fire, intending to tie it to the tail of a dog, then in the guard [house], and [Corporal Staunton] running to the gate, the dog not being [found] in the way, he took the bandileer, there being a string tied to it and flung it towards the Old Judge’s House, but the wind being very strong, it blew it upon the bastion and fired all the powder which was 35 barrels all English. There were 8 Coolies tending it and 1 Centry who were all burnt to death, whereof 6 blown into the ditch and the parade, and some limbs blown over the fort. All the doors in the Fort were blown open, and made most part of the Town shake.’

Corporal Staunton was not hurt but was kicked out of the garrison after being made to run the gauntlet three times for his little prank. One is amazed he was not executed!

Arthur E. Mainwaring, Crown and Company: Records of the 2nd Battalion Royal Dublin Fusiliers (103rd ) foot. Formerly the 1st Bombay European Regiment, 1662-1911, London, A.L. Humphries, 1911, p. 60, quoting a 1677 report.

(with thanks to Rene Chartrand).
 
More fighting Irish

Observed by a Confederate PoW near Sheridan's HQ (Oct. 12) in the Shenandoah Valley.

Yesterday evening I head two Irishmen quarrel until they got up to the fighting pitch, but they were afraid to fight then, for fear it would round up in the guardhouse or end in doing double duty, consequently they made an appointment to meet at midnight and go through with the gratifying exercise of hammering each other without hindrance or foreign intervention until subjugation proclaimed peace and honor fully vindicated and satisfied. According to the arrangement the combatants stepped into the arena at midnight, close to our lodging place; I was awake and a witness to the conflict. When they met I heard one of them say, "Faith and be Hivin, now we will knock it out!" and they commenced vigorous operations without skirmishing. They fought in the dark, so I did not see them, but I heard the heavy blows fall thick and fast for some little time, then all was still; the engagement was over, and I heard no more. The men that fought belonged to a Massachusetts regiment of infantry.
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Re: Wildfire and Blackpowder

The story of Staunton's prank gone wrong and the resulting punishment shows a British legal distinction that is still around today both in England and in the US. I think the reason he had to walk thrice through the gauntlet rather than meeting the rope was that the court or whatever body dispensed punishment believed that the deaths were a result of gross boobery. If they had found that he acted with a "depraved heart" by intentionally creating a situation likely to result in death he would have swung for murder. This distinction is the difference between modern involuntary manslaughter and 2nd degree murder charges.

Three times through the gauntlet was no joke, though.
 
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