Anecdotes, Poetry and Incidents of the War: North and South. 1860-1865.
Collected and Arranged by Frank Moore, published 1867

            At a council of generals early in the war, one remarked that Major ____ was wounded, and would not be able to perform a duty that it was proposed to assign him. “Wounded!” said Jackson. “If it really is so, I think it must have been by an accidental discharge of his duty.”

Anecdotes, Poetry and Incidents of the War: North and South. 1860-1865.
Collected and Arranged by Frank Moore, published 1867

            The following incident in the terrible battle at Fredericksburg was related by Col. Morgan: Maj. Gen. Howard, who commanded the extreme right, ordered a strong line of pickets to be formed, as a line of battle, by Col. Morgan, in command of heavy detachments from five regiments, with the Minnesota First, as usual, on the extreme right, and most exposed place. The morning dawned —the rebels opened with shot and shell, ploughing up the ground and covering the line with heaps of earth. It was a very hot place, and three of the regiments broke, and run like sheep. Gens. Howard and Sully (Sully, their old Colonel, whom they loved dearly) were watching them. “There,” said Maj.-Gen. Howard, —” there, they don’t stand fire — see them run.” “Not a bit of it,” says Gen. Sully; “my old Minnesota don’t run.” Gen. Howard fixed his glass on them.

            “No — no — no, sir; they — your old regiment don’t flinch a hair — they don’t run.” Sully, raising himself up to his full height, exclaimed, in his soft language, “Who in ____ ever supposed they would run? They are not of the running breed.” Gen. Howard complimented them as the most reliable, the bravest regiment in the division, if not in the army.

Anecdotes, Poetry and Incidents of the War: North and South. 1860-1865.
Collected and Arranged by Frank Moore, published 1867

            Adam Badeau, a literary man and journalist of New York, volunteered, at Port Royal, to act in any capacity which might prove useful, when Gen. Sherman contemplated an advance upon Savannah, in January, 1862. He was immediately appointed volunteer Aid on Gen. Sherman’s staff, and served in this capacity, without either rank or pay, till Gen. Sherman was relieved. The preparations for the siege of Fort Pulaski having then been completed, he volunteered and served as Aid to Gen. Gillmore, who commanded the United States forces during the bombardment of that work. He, with Gen. Gillmore, was the first to enter Fort Pulaski, being sent forward to meet the rebel officer who approached on Gen. Gillmore’s landing, after the flag of the fort was struck. The rebel was Capt. Simms, late editor of the Savannah Republican. Capt. Simms’ first words were civil: “I trust, sir, you will pardon the delay that has occurred in receiving you; we thought you would land at the other wharf.” After this, Capt. Simms wished to conduct Mr. Badeau to the commandant of the fort, but Badeau requested Simms rather to go to Gen. Gillmore. This was acceded to, and after a few words of parley, the three, accompanied also by Cob Rust of a Maine regiment, entered the fort; they were received at the portcullis by Col. Olmstead, the commandant, who conducted them first to his quarters, and afterwards to inspect the works, pointing out the havoc which had been made by the National batteries. In an interview of an hour’s duration between the two commanders, the terms of the capitulation were arranged. Gem Gillmore and Col. Rust returned to Tybee Island, and Mr. Badeau was left to introduce a second party of National officers sent to receive the swords of the rebels. The ceremony of surrender took place in one of the casemates (used by Col. Olmstead for his own quarters) at about dark. Five National officers, besides Badeau, were present: Maj. Halpine, Adj.-Gen. for Gen. Hunter, Capt. S. H. Pelouze, Capt. Ely, Lieut. O’Rorke, and Lieut. Irwin of the Wabash. Each rebel, as he laid his sword on the table, announced his name and rank. The Colonel said, “I yield my sword, but I trust I have not disgraced it;” others made remarks less felicitous. After the ceremony, the National officers were invited to supper by these prisoners, and then returned to Tybee Island. Badeau, however, remained all night in Fort Pulaski, sleeping in the room with three rebel officers, and even sharing the bed of one of the hospitable prisoners. No Union troops arrived in the fort until about midnight, so that his sojourn among those who had so lately been his enemies, had a dash of romance about it. He was treated, however, with the greatest courtesy, the rebels apologizing for the fare he was offered by saying: “You see to what you have reduced us.” Hominy, molasses, hard bread, and pork were served for supper and breakfast; and for variety, sweet oil was used instead of molasses. The conversation was animated, and often touched on politics.

            Immediately afterwards, Mr. Badeau was recommended to the President, by Gen. Hunter, for a captaincy, and made bearer of despatches to the Government, announcing the fall of Pulaski. He had also the honor of being mentioned in Gen. Gillmore’s formal report of the operations. The President accordingly at once appointed him an additional Aid to Maj.-Gen. Halleck, with the rank of Captain in the regular army.

            Capt. Badeau was assigned to duty with his old chief, Brig.-Gen. Sherman, served under him during the siege of Corinth, and in the subsequent pursuit of Beauregard in Mississippi. He was afterwards ordered to the Department of the Gulf, but now (1865) occupies a position on the staff of Lieut.-Gen. Grant.

Anecdotes, Poetry and Incidents of the War: North and South. 1860-1865.
Collected and Arranged by Frank Moore, published 1867

                        At Nashville’s fall
                        We sinned all.

                        At Number Ten
                        We sinned again.

                        Thy purse to mend,
                        Old Floyd attend.

                        Abe Lincoln bold
                        Our ports doth hold.

                        Jeff Davis tells a lie,
                        And so must you and I.

                        Isham did mourn
                        His case forlorn.

                        Brave Pillow’s flight
                        Is out of sight.

                        Buell doth play
                        And after slay.

                        Yon oak will be the gallows-tree
                        Of Richmond’s fallen majesty.

Anecdotes, Poetry and Incidents of the War: North and South. 1860-1865.
Collected and Arranged by Frank Moore, published 1867

            At a flag-raising at North Plato, Kane County, Illinois, after the Stars and Stripes had been duly hoisted, the assembly adjourned to the village church, where some speeches were made by patriotic gentlemen, and an opportunity was offered for young men to come forward and enlist, the company at Plato not being quite full. Not a man went up! This aroused the patriotism as well as the “dander” of the village schoolmistress, who, with many other ladies, was present, and she walked boldly forward to the secretary’s desk, and headed the muster-roll with a name rendered illustrious as having been affixed to the Declaration of Independence, with the prenomen Mary. She was followed by another lady, and, lo, and behold! the Plato company was not long in filling its ranks! The muster-roll, bearing the names of the spirited young vivandieres, has been sent to headquarters, and the company accepted by the “powers that be.” After that day four flag-raisings came off in that portion of Kane county, and “Mary” and “May” — the soldier girls — in uniforms of white, red, and blue, attended all of them, at the request of the officers, marching, as pioneers, at the head of their company. The Captain said he could not get along without them; and after the flag had been sent up, he allowed them to fire each three guns in honor of the Union, the Stars and Stripes. Much of the success of the recruiting service, and the patriotic fire in old Kane, was attributed to the gallant conduct and bright eyes of these young ladies.

Anecdotes, Poetry and Incidents of the War: North and South. 1860-1865.
Collected and Arranged by Frank Moore, published 1867

            When the Tenth Indiana was recruited in the fall of 1861, they took for their drummer a little fellow, named Johnny McLaughlin, whose parents reside at Lafayette, Indiana. He was then a little over ten years of age, and beat his tattoo at the head of the regiment for several months of active service.

            At Donelson and at Shiloh, when the drumbeats were drowned in the deeper roar of battle, Jonny laid down his sticks, and taking the musket and cartridge box from a dead soldier, went out to the front, and fought as bravely as the stoutest soldier in the regiment. Escaping unhurt in each of these engagements, he was enamoured of soldier life, and sought a transfer from the infantry to Col. Jacob’s Kentucky cavalry. Being favorably impressed with the spirit and zeal of the young warrior, Col. Jacob put him into his best company, and mounted him on a good horse. At the engagement at Richmond, which soon followed, in the summer of 1862, he fought with as much coolness and skill as any of his company, handling his sabre, revolver, and revolving rifle with the address of a veteran.

            In October following, he was in another battle, at Perryville, where he received his first wound, a ball passing through the leg above the knee.

            In this engagement Col. Jacob, with a part of his command, was temporarily separated from the greater part of the regiment, and while thus cut off was attacked by a largely superior force of the enemy, led by a Major. Col. Jacob was deliberating for a moment on the demand to surrender, when the little hero drew his pistol and shot the Major in the mouth, killing him instantly. A few moments of confusion and delay followed in the rebel regiment, during which Col. Jacob and his men escaped.

            A few weeks after, he was engaged in a skirmish with some of John “Morgan ’s men, who were raiding through Kentucky, and the fighting was severe.

            Johnny was set upon by a strapping fellow, who gave him a pretty severe cut on the leg with his sabre, and knocked him off his horse. A moment after, another rebel seized him by the collar, and exclaimed: “We’ve got one d—d little Yankee, anyhow.” The little Yankee did not see it in that light, however, and quickly drawing his pistol, shot his captor dead, and a moment after the rebels were routed, and he escaped capture.

            As he was going back to Indiana on furlough to give his wound time to heal, he was stopped at one point by a provost guard, and his pass demanded.

            “O,” said he, ” the Colonel didn’t give me one, but just told me to go along with the rest. “But,” added the little soldier, showing his wound, “here’s a pass the rebs gave me; ain’t that good enough for a little fellow like me?” The guard thought it was.

            His wound proved quite serious, and, much to his surprise, and against his wishes, he received his discharge in consequence of this and his extreme youthfulness. Not relishing civil life as long as the hostilities lasted, lie applied at a recruiting office, but the condition of his leg excluded him.

            Nothing daunted, however, he sought and obtained an interview with the President, who on hearing the story of the boyish veteran, gave a special order for his enlistment.

            He had now made up his mind to follow the life of a soldier, and joined the regular army of the United States as a bugler in the cavalry service, and makes as fine-looking, neat, and obedient a little dragoon as there is in the army.

Anecdotes, Poetry and Incidents of the War: North and South. 1860-1865.
Collected and Arranged by Frank Moore, published 1867

A Southern writer, in recounting the incidents of the battle of Bull Run, says:

            Our regiment by this time had come in reach of the enemy’s cannon. The balls fell before and behind us, but no damage was done. We now threw our knapsacks away to engage in a hand-to-hand fight. We ran to the point at which the fire seemed to be most severe. Advancing in front of the cannon, we got within musket-shot of our enemy, and fell to the ground, having a slight mound to protect us. Had we been standing, scarcely one would have been left. Twice did the cannon-balls throw dirt upon me, and musket-balls whistled by the hundred within a few inches of my head. Several of our regiment (18th Virginia) were killed, but the exact number I know not. Young Hatchett was wounded, but not seriously, the ball entering his leg. Men would raise their heads a few inches from the ground to peep, and several times were shot in that position. Men fell on my right and left. We remained about ten minutes receiving the enemy’s fire, and were not allowed to return fire, The command to fire came at last. We rose and fired with deadly effect upon our foes. We rushed forward to the top of the hill, and fired again; also a third time. Now, for the first time, the foe began to retire in a run, and in great disorder. I think that a great majority of the regiment upon which we fired were killed. No boasting, — God forbid! to him all praise is due. At our approach the enemy left an excellent rifled battery, manned by regulars, in our hands. They fought until all their horses were killed, and nearly every man. We were now left victors of the field, and started in pursuit of the foe. We followed them a mile or so, and were then brought back within a mile of Manassas, marching at night a distance of six or seven miles. The fight lasted eight hours—from nine to five. I cannot describe the horrors of the fight. Noise and confusion of many kinds prevailed—the firing of cannon, the discharge of. musketry, the whizzing of balls, the bursting of bombs, the roar of artillery, the tramp of horses, the advance of infantry, the shouts of the conquering, the groans of the dying, the shrieks of the wounded, large numbers of the dead lying upon the ground, the carrying of the wounded by scores, and all enveloped in a dark cloud of smoke, — all go to make one vast spectacle of horrors such as I never wish to see again, or hear. Many were the dead and wounded, over which I was forced to pass, both of our men and of our foes. O, how I wanted to aid them, but could not! The fight was desperate. The enemy succeeded in carrying off hundreds of their dead, but left many behind. Our cavalry, who pursued them in the direction of Centreville, report the road strewn with dead and wounded.

            Our enemies are not cowards. Many men were found with bayonets in them, some side by side, each with his bayonet in the other. Our enemy is said to have run generally when we advanced with the bayonet. Certainly this was the worst of the fight. Gen. Beauregard, who commanded in person, told us that he would depend principally upon the bayonet. Gen. B. cheered us as we advanced, and our loud cheers in return were said to have frightened the enemy.

Anecdotes, Poetry and Incidents of the War: North and South. 1860-1865.
Collected and Arranged by Frank Moore, published 1867

            A correspondent writing from Jasper county, Mississippi, gave the following:

            Mrs. Simmons, a widow lady of Jasper county, Mississippi, made, during one year of the war, (1863), 300 bushels of corn, 100 bushels of potatoes, with peas and pinders enough to fatten her hogs. She did the ploughing herself, and did it with an old wind-broken pony. Her two little daughters, aged twelve and fourteen years, did the hoeing. She also made 100 pounds of tobacco. After her crop was finished, she did weaving enough to buy her salt, and a pair of cards, and had some money left.

Anecdotes, Poetry and Incidents of the War: North and South. 1860-1865.
Collected and Arranged by Frank Moore, published 1867

            One of the Ninth Missouri was so enraged, on the second day of the battle, at seeing his brother, a member of the same regiment, horribly butchered and scalped, that he swore vengeance against the Indians, and for the remainder of the day devoted his attention entirely to them, concealing himself behind trees, and fighting in their fashion. An excellent marksman, he would often creep along the ground to obtain a better range; and then woe to the savage who exposed any part of his body. When he had shot an Indian, he would shout with delicious joy: “There goes another red-skin to _____. Hurrah for the Stars and Stripes, and ____ all Indians.” Though ever following the wily foe, and though fired upon again and again, he received not a scratch; and on his return to camp, after nightfall, bore with him nine scalps of aboriginal warriors, slain by his own hand to avenge his brother’s death.

            A German soldier, in the Thirty-fifth Illinois, met with two very narrow escapes in fifteen minutes, while Gen. Carr’s division was contending so vigorously against the enemy in Cross-Timber Hollow. He wore earrings for the benefit of his eyes, and a musket-ball cut one of them in two, (the broken segments still remaining,) and passed into the shoulder of the Second Lieutenant of the company. Ten minutes after, during a temporary lull in the strife, while the German was relating the story of his escape, a bullet whistled by, carrying the other ring with it, and abrading the skin of his ear, without doing further harm. Such are the vagaries of fate, and the mysterious shiftings on the battle-field between life and death.

            One of the Texas soldiers was advancing with his bayonet upon a Lieutenant of the Ninth Iowa, whose sword had been broken. The officer saw his intention, avoided the thrust, fell down at his foeman’s feet, caught hold of his legs, threw him heavily to the ground, and before he could rise, drew a long knife from his adversary’s belt; and buried it in his bosom. The Texan, with dying grasp, seized the Lieutenant by the hair, and sank down lifeless, bathing the brown leaves with his blood. So firm was the hold of the nerveless hand, that it was necessary to cut the hair from the head of the officer before he could be freed from the corpse of the foe.

            Presentiments on the battle-field often prove prophetic. Here is an instance: While Col. Osterhaus was gallantly attacking the centre of the enemy, on the second day, a Sergeant of the Twelfth Missouri requested the Captain of his company to send his wife’s portrait, which he had taken from his bosom, to her address in St. Louis, with his dying declaration that he thought of her in his last moments. “What is that for?” asked the Captain. “You are not wounded—are you?” “No,” answered the Sergeant; “but I know I shall be killed to-day. I have been in battle before, but I have never felt as I do now. A moment ago I became convinced my time had come; but how, I cannot tell. Will you gratify my request? Remember, I speak to you as a dying man.” “Certainly, my brave fellow; but you will live to a good old age with your wife. Do not grow melancholy over a fancy or a dream.” “You will see,” was the response. The picture changed hands. The Sergeant stepped forward to the front of the column, and the Captain perceived him no more. At the camp-fire that evening the officer inquired for the Sergeant. He was not present. He had been killed three hours before by a grape-shot from one of the enemy’s batteries.

            While the fight was raging about Miser’s farmhouse, on the ridge, on Friday morning, a soldier, belonging to the Twenty-fifth Missouri, and a member of a Mississippi company, became separated from their commands, and found each other climbing the same fence. The rebel had one of those long knives made of a file, which the South has so extensively paraded, but so rarely used, and the Missourian had one also, having picked it up on the field. The rebel challenged his enemy to a fair, open combat with the knife, intending to bully him, no doubt; and the challenge was promptly accepted. The two removed their coats, rolled up their sleeves, and began. The Mississippian had more skill, but his opponent more strength, and consequently the latter could not strike his enemy, while he received several cuts on the head and breast.

            The blood began trickling down the Unionist’s face, and, running into his eyes, almost blinded him. The Union man became desperate, for he saw the secessionist was unhurt. He made a feint; the rebel leaned forward to arrest the blow, but employing too much energy, he could not recover himself at once. The Missourian perceived his advantage, and knew he could not lose it. In five seconds more it would be too late. His enemy, glaring at him like a Wild beast, was on the eve of striking again. Another feint; another dodge on the rebel’s part and then the blade of the Missourian, hurled through the air, fell with tremendous force upon the Mississippian’s neck. The blood spirted from the throat, and the head fell over, almost entirely severed from the body. Ghastly sight! too ghastly even for the doer of the deed! He fainted at the spectacle, weakened by the loss of his own blood, and was soon after butchered by a Seminole, who saw him sink to the earth.

            On Saturday morning, a body of three or four hundred Indians was discovered on the north side of Sugar Creek, below the curve of a hill, firing from thick clusters of post-oaks into three or four companies of Arkansas soldiers, marching in McCulloch’s division towards the upper part of the ridge. The Major of the battalion, seeing this, hallooed out to them that they were firing upon their own friends, and placed his white handkerchief on his sword, and waved it in the air.

            The Indians either did not see, or did not care for, the flag of truce, but poured two volleys into the Arkansans, killing, among others, the Major himself. The presumption then was, that the Cherokees had turned traitors; and the secession soldiers were immediately ordered to charge upon them. They did so, and for an hour a terrible fight ensued among the oaks between them and their late savage allies, in which it is stated some two hundred and fifty-were killed and wounded on both sides. The Indians suffered severely, as they were driven from their hiding-places, and shot and butchered without mercy. A person who witnessed this part of the fight says it was the most bloody and desperate that occurred on the field, being conducted with the most reckless and brutal energy by the two parties, of whom it would be difficult to say which was the most barbarous. On the dead savages were found, in some instances, two or three scalps fastened to their belts by thongs of leather.

Anecdotes, Poetry and Incidents of the War: North and South. 1860-1865.
Collected and Arranged by Frank Moore, published 1867

                        by Harry Flash.

NOT ‘midst the lightning of the stormy fight,
Not in the rush upon the Vandal foe,
Did kingly Death, with his resistless might,
            Lay the Great Leader low.

His warrior soul its earthly shackles broke
In the full sunshine of a Peaceful town;
When all the storm was hushed, the trusty oak
            That propped our cause went down.

Though his alone the blood that flecks the ground,
Recording all his grand, heroic deeds,
Freedom herself is writhing with the wound,
            And all the country bleeds.

He entered not the nation’s Promised Land
At the red belching of the cannon’s mouth,
But broke the House of Bondage with his hand,
            The Moses of the South!

O, gracious God ! not gainless is the loss ;
A glorious sunbeam gilds thy sternest frown;
And while his country staggers with time cross,
            He rises with time crown!