How Private George W. Peck Put Down the Rebellion

  CHAPTER V.

  The Funeral of the Colored Cook--I Plead for a Larger Procession--The Funeral Oration--The Funeral Disturbed--I am Arrested--My Fortunate Escape.

  This last chapter of these celebrated war papers closed with me saddlingmy mule to ride to the funeral of the colored cook, at which I was toact as chaplain. The mule evidently knew that it was a solemn occasion,for there was a mournful look on its otherwise placid face, the earsdrooped more than usual, and there seemed a sweet peace stealing overthe animal, which well became a funeral, until I began to buckle up thesaddle, when the long-eared brute began to paw and kick and bite, and ittook six men to get me into the saddle. I rode down the company streetwhere the cart stood with the remains, and a colored driver sitting onthe foot of the plain pine box, asleep. I woke the driver up with thepoint of my saber, when another colored man came out of a tent with ashovel in one hand, and a hardtack with a piece of bacon in the other.He climbed into the cart, sat down on the coffin and began to eat hisdinner. This was my funeral. All that seemed necessary for a funeral wasa corpse, a driver of a cart, and a man with a shovel. I rode up to theorderly's tent and asked him where the mourners were, and he laughed atme. The idea of mourners seemed to be ridiculous. I had never, in all mylife, seen so slim a funeral, and it hurt me. In the meantime the niggerwith the shovel had woke up the driver of the cart, and he had followedme, with the remains. I told them to halt the funeral right there, untilI could skirmish around and pick up mourners enough for a mess, anda choir, and some bearers. As I rode away to the colonel's tent,the driver of the cart and the man with the shovel were playing"mumbleypeg," with a jack-knife, on the coffin, which shocked me verymuch, as I was accustomed to living where more respect was paid to thedead. I went to the colonel's tent and yelled "Say! The colonel, who waschanging his shirt, came to the door with his eyes full of soap, rubbinghis neck with a towel, and asked what was the row. I told him I wouldlike to have him detail me six bearers, seven or eight mourners, a fewsingers, and fifteen or twenty men for a congregation. He asked me whaton earth I was talking about, and just then the cart with the corpsein was driven up to where I was, the orderly having told the driver tofollow me with the late lamented. I pointed to the outfit, and said:

  "Colonel, in that box lie the remains of a colored cook. The chaplainhas appointed me to conduct the funeral service, and I find that the twocolored men on the cart are the only ones to accompany the remains totheir last resting place. No man can successfully run a funeral on threeniggers, one of whom is dead, one liable to go to sleep any minute, andthe other with an abnormal appetite for hardtack. It is a disgraceto civilization to give a dead man such a send off, and I want you todetail me some men to see me through. I have loaded myself with someinteresting remarks befitting the occasion, and I do not want to firethem off into space, with no audience except these two coons. Give mesome mourners and things, or I drop this funeral right where it is."

  While I was speaking the general rode up to visit with the colonel,with his staff, and the colonel came out with his undershirt on, and hissuspenders hanging down, and he and the general consulted for a minute,and laughed a little, which I thought was disgraceful. Then the colonelsent for the sergeant-major and told, him to detail all the companycooks and officer's servants, to attend the funeral with me, and he saidI could divide them off into reliefs, letting a few be mourners at atime. In the meantime, he said, I could move my procession off downby the horse-doctor's quarter's, as he did not want it in front of histent. That reminded me that the horse-doctor had prescribed for thedeceased, and had given him condition powders, and I asked the colonelto compel the horse-doctor to go with me. It had always seemed to me athome that the attending physician, under whose auspices the person died,should attend the funeral of his patient, and when I told the colonelabout it, he called the horse-doctor and told him he would have togo. It took half an hour or so to get the colored cooks and servantstogether, but when all was ready to move, it was quite a respectablefuneral, except that I could not help noticing a spirit of levity onthe part of the mourners. All the followers were mounted, the officer'sservant's on officer's horses, and the cooks on mules, and it requiredall the presence of mind I possessed to keep the coons from turning thesad occasion into a horse race, as they would drop back, in squads, aquarter of a mile or so, and then come whooping up to the cart containingthe remains, and each vowing that his horse could clean out the others.I rode in front of the remains with the horse-doctor, and tried toconduct myself in as solemn a manner as befitted the occasion, and triedto reason with the horse-doctor against his unseemly jokes, which he wasconstantly getting on. He told several stories, better calculated for agathering where bacchanalian revelry was the custom, and I told him thatwhile I respected his calling, he must respect mine. He said somethingabout calling a man on a full hand, against a flush, but I did notpretend to know what he meant. We had to go out of town about twomiles, to the cemetery. Unfortunately we were in the watermelon growingsection, and the horse-doctor called my attention to the fact that myprocession was becoming scarce, when I looked around, and every blessedone of the cooks and servants, and the man with the shovel, had gone oninto the field after melons, and I stopped the cart and yelled to themto come back to the funeral. Pretty soon they all rode back, each witha melon under his arm, and every face looked as though there was nofuneral that could prevent a nigger from stealing a watermelon. Afterseveral stops, to round up my mourners, from corn fields and horseracing, we arrived at the cemetery, and while the grave was being dugthe niggers went for the melons, and if it had been a picnic therecouldn't have been much more enjoyment. The horse-doctor took out a bigknife that he used to bleed horses, and cut a melon, and offered me aslice, and while I did not feel that it was just the place to indulgein melon, it looked so good that I ate some, with a mental reservation,however. It was all a new experience to me. I had never believed thatin the presence of death, or at a funeral, people could be anything butdecorous and solemn. I had never attended a funeral before, except whereall present were friends of the deceased, and sorry, but here all seemeddifferent. They all seemed to look upon the thing as a good joke. Ihad read that in New York and other large cities, those who attendedfunerals had a horse race on the way back, and stopped at beer saloonsand filled up, but I never believed that people could be so depraved. Itried to talk to the coons, and get them to show proper respect for theoccasion, but they laughed and threw melon rinds at each other. Finnallythe colonel and the general, with quite a lot of soldiers, who wereout reconnoitering, rode to where we were, and the coons acted a littlebetter, but I could see that the officers were not particularly solemn.They seemed to expect something rich. They evidently looked upon me asa star idiot, who would make some blunder, or say something to make themlaugh: I made up my mind that in my new position I would act just asdecorous, and speak as kindly as though the deceased was the president.During all my life I had made it a practice never to speak ill of anyperson on earth, and if I could not say a good word for a person I wouldsay nothing, a practice which I have kept up until this writing, withmuch success, and I decided that the words spoken on that occasionshould not reflect against the poor man who had passed in his checks,and laid down the burden of life. The grave was completed, and with acouple of picket ropes the body was let down, and there was for a momenta sort of solemnity. I arose, and as near as I can remember at this lateday, spoke about as follows:

  A solemn funeral oration 077]

  "Friends: We have met here today to conduct the last rites over a man,who but yesterday was among us but who, in an unguarded moment drank toomuch whisky, and paid the penalty. (There was a smile perceptible onthe faces on the officers.) The ignorant man who died, did not know anybetter, but I see around me men who know better, but who drink more thanthis man did, and if they are not careful they will go the same way.(There was less smiling among the officers.) It is said of this man thathe was bad, that he would steal. I have investigated, and have
foundthat it is true, but that his peculations consisted of small things, oflittle value, and I am convinced that the habit was not worse with himthan with any of us. In war times, everybody steals. We are all thievesto a certain extent. The soldier will not go hungry if he can jay-hawkanything to eat. The officer will not go thirsty if he can capturewhisky, nor will anybody walk if he can steal a horse. The higher a mangets the more he will steal. Shall we harbor unkind thoughts againstthis dead man for stealing a pair of boots, and honor a general whosteals a thousand bales of cotton? (No! no! shouted the cooks andservants, while the officers looked as though they were sorry theyattended the funeral.) Friends let us look at the good qualities of ourfriend. I say, without fear of successful contradiction, that a man,however humble his station, who can bake beans as well as the remainscould bake them, is entitled to a warm place in the heart of everysoldier, and if he goes to the land that is fairer than this,-and whocan say that he will not,--he is liable to be welcomed with 'well done,good and faithful servant,' and he will be received where horse doctorscan never enter with their condition powders, and where there will neverbe war any more. To his family, or several families, as the case may be,I would say----"

  At this point I had noticed an uneasiness on the part of my mourners andbearers, as well as the officers. Nine of the negroes fell down on theground and groaned as if in pain, and the general and his stall lookedoff to a piece of woods where a few shots had been fired, and rode awayhurriedly, the colonel telling me I had better hurry up that funeral orit was liable to be interrupted. The horse-doctor went to the negroeswho were sick, and after examining them he said they had been poisonedby eating melons that had been doctored, and he advised them to get totown as quick as possible. They scrambled on their horses the best waythey could, and just then there was a yell, and out of the woods camehalf a dozen Union soldiers followed by fifteen or twenty Confederates,and all was confusion. The niggers scattered towards town, the driver ofthe cart taking the lead, trying to catch the general and his start, whowere hurrying away, leaving the horse-doctor, myself and the deceased.The horse-doctor seized the shovel and threw a little dirt on thecoffin, then mounted his horse, I mounted my mule, and away we wenttowards town, with the rebels gaining on us every jump. The horse-doctorsoon left me, and with a picket I had pulled off the fence of thecemetery, I worked my passage on that mule. I mauled the mule, and themore I pounded the slower it went. There was never a more deliberatemule in the world. I forgot all the solemn thoughts that possessed meat the grave, and tried to talk to the mule like a mule-driver, butthe animal just fooled along, as though there was no especial hurry.Occasionally I could hear bullets 'zipping' along by me, and the rebelswere yelling for all that was out. O, how I did wish I had my old racehorse that the chaplain had beat me out of. In my first engagement myhorse was too fast, and there was danger that I would catch my friend,the rebel, and I complained of the horse. Now I had a mule that wastoo slow. What I wanted was a 'middling' horse, one that was not tooconfounded fast when after the enemy, and one not so all-fired slow whenbeing pursued. The Johnnies were coming closer, but we were only halfa mile from town. Would they chase us clear into town? At that criticalmoment the blasted mule stopped short, never to go again, and began tokick. What on earth possessed that fool mule to take a notion to stopright there and kick, is more than I shall ever know, but it simplykicked, and I felt that my time had come. The Union soldiers that werebeing chased by the Confederates passed me, and told me I better lightout or I would be captured, but I couldn't get the mule to budge aninch. It just kicked. The good Lord only knows, what that mule waskicking at, or why it should have been scheduled to stop and kick atthat particular time, when every minute was precious. I saw the rebelsvery near me, and as it was impossible to get the mule to go a stepfarther, I raised the large, flat, white-washed picket which I had tornon the cemetery fence to maul the mule with, in token of surrender, andthe Confederate boys surrounded me, though they kept a safe distance,after my mule had kicked in the ribs of one of their horses. The rebshad gone about as far towards the town as it was safe to go, and andthey knew the whole garrison would be out after them pretty soon, sothey laughed at me for being armed with a whitewashed picket, and askedme if I expected to put down the rebellion by stabbing the enemy withsuch things. I told them I had been burying a nigger. One of my captorsrun the point of his saber into my mule, to stop its kicking, and thenhe said to his comrades, "Boys, we came out here with the gloriousprospect of capturing a Yankee general and his staff, and instead ofgetting him, we have broken up a nigger funeral and captured the gospelsharp, armed with a picket fence, and a kicking mule. Shall we hanghim for engaging in uncivilized, warfare, by stabbing us with picketspoisoned with whitewash, or shall we take the red-headed slim-jim backwith us as a curiosity." The boys all said not to hang me, but to takeme along. I saw that it was all day with me this time. I felt that Iwas helping put down the rebellion rapidly, as I had been a soldier fourweeks, been captured twice, and not a drop of blood had been spilled.The rebels started back, with me and my mule ahead of them, and theykept the mule ahead by jabbing it with a saber occasionally. I felthumiliated and indignant at being called slim-jim, sorrel-top, andelder. They seemed to think I was a preacher. I stood it all until acuss reached into my pocket and took my meershaum pipe and a bag oftobacco, filled the pipe and lit it, then I was mad. I had paid eightdollars of my bounty for that pipe, and I said to the leader: "Boss, Ican stand a joke as well as anybody, but when you capture me, in a fairfight, you have no right to jab my mule with a saber, or call me names.I am a meek and lowly soldier of the army of the right, and want to solive that I can meet you all in the great hereafter, but by the gods Ican whip the condemned galoot that stole my meershaum pipe. You thinkI am pious, and a non-combatant, but I am a fighter from away back, anddon't you forget it." The young man who seemed to be in command told meto dry up, and he would get my pipe. He went and took it away from theone who had stolen it, filled it and lit it himself, and said it was agood pipe, and then he passed it around among them all. We moved on at atrot, and were getting far away from my regiment, and I realized that Iwas a captive, and that I should probably die in Andersonville prison. Ilooked at the dozen stalwart rebels that were riding behind me, and knewI could not whip them all with one picket off the cemetery fence, and soI resolved to remain a captive, and die for my country, of scurvey, ifnecessary. I turned around in my saddle to ask if it wasn t about timefor me to have a smoke out of my own pipe, and as I looked up the roadwe had come over I saw a large body of our own cavalry, coming like thewind toward us. I said nothing, but my face gave me away. I looked sotickled to see the boys coming that the rebels noticed it, and theylooked back and saw the soldiers in pursuit, they yelled, "The Yanks arecoming!" put spurs to their horses, stabbed my mule and told me to poundit with the picket, and hurry up, and then they passed me, and away theywent, leaving me in the road alone between them and my own soldiers, Iyelled to the leader to give me back my pipe, and I can hear his mockinglaugh to this day, as he told me to "go to hell." This made me mad, anddrawing my picket I dashed after the retreating rebels, knowing that themen of my regiment would soon overtake me, and they would think I hadchased the rebels three miles from town, armed only with a picket offthe fence, and saved the garrison from capture. The thing workedto perfection, and when our command came up, the horses panting andperspiring, and the boys looking wild, the captain in command asked mehow many there was of em, and I told him about forty, and he said Ihad done well to drive them so far, and he charged by me after them.I yelled to the captain to try and kill that long-legged rebel onthe sorrel horse, and get my meershaum pipe, but he didn't hear me. Ihurried along as fast as I could, but before I caught up, there wasa good deal of firing, and when I got there flankers were out in thewoods, and there was sorrow, for three or four boys in blue had beenkilled in an ambush, and the rebels had got away across a bayou. As Irode up on my mule, with the picket still in my hand, I saw the threesoldiers of my
regiment lying dead under a tree, two others were woundedand had bandages around their heads, and for the first time since I hadbeen a soldier, I realized that war was not a picnic. I could not keepmy eyes off the faces of my dead comrades, the best and bravest boysin the regiment, boys who always got to the front when there was askirmish. To think that I had been riding right amongst the rebels whohad done this thing but a few minutes before, and never thought thatdeath would claim anybody so soon. I wondered if those rebels were notsorry they had killed such good boys. I wondered, as I thought of thefathers and mothers, and sisters of my dead companions, whether therebels would not sympathize with them, and then I thought suppose ourfellows had not been killed, and we had killed some of the Confederates,wouldn't it have been just as sorrowful, wouldn't _their_ fathers,mothers and sisters have mourned the same.

  Then I made a resolve that I would never kill anybody if I could helpit; I even decided that if I should meet the rebel that had my meershaumpipe, I would not fight him to get it. If he wasn't gentleman enough togive it up peaceably, he could keep it, and be darned. Just then someof our skirmishers came in carrying another dead body, and we were allspeculating as to which one of our poor boys had fallen, when we noticedthat the dead soldier had on a gray suit, and it was soon found that hewas one of the Confederates. He was laid down beside our dead boys, andI don't know but I felt about as bad to see him dead, as it was possibleto feel. It is true he had told me, half an hour before, when I askedhim for my pipe, to go to hades, but I did not have to go unless Iwanted to. And he was gone first. I saw something sticking out of thebreast pocket of the dead Confederate, and could see that it was mypipe. Then I thought of the foolish remark I made to the captain, tokill that long-legged rebel and get my meershaum. God bless him, Ididn't want anybody to kill him for a bad smelling old pipe, and Iwondered if that remark would be registered up against me, in the greatbook above, when I didn't mean it. I tried to make myself believe thatmy remark did not have any influence on the man's fate. He just tookhis chances with his comrades, and was killed, no doubt, and yet it wasimpossible to get the idea off my mind that I was responsible for hisdeath. Anyway, I would never touch the confounded old pipe again, andif I ever heard of his mother or sister, after the war was over, I wouldstand by them as long as I had a nickel. An ambulance was sent for andthe dead and wounded were placed in it, and we went back to town, a sadprocession. There was no need to detail any mourners for this occasion,and there was no straggling for watermelons. Everybody was full ofsorrow. The next day there was a Union funeral in that Southern town,and the three Union boys were laid side by side, while a little, to oneside my Confederate was buried, receiving the same kind words from thechaplains. As a volley was about to be fired over the graves, I pickeda handful of roses, buds and blossoms, from a rose bush in the cemetery,and went to the grave of the Confederate and tenderly tossed them uponthe coffin. The horse doctor saw me do it, and in his rough manner said,

  "What you about there? It ain t necessary to plant flowers on the gravesof rebels.

  "O, no, it isn't necessary, I said, as the volley was fired over thegraves, but it will make his mother or his sister feel better to knowthat there are a few roses in there, and it won't hurt anybody. I willjust play that I am the authorized agent of that Confederate soldier'ssister.

  "O, all right if you say so, said the horse-doctor, as he drew thesleeve of his blue blouse across his eyes, which were wet. The lastvolley was fired, and the soldiers returned to camp, leaving the dead oftwo armies sleeping together. As I went in the chaplain's tent and satdown to think, the chaplain handed me something, saying:

  "Here's your pipe. They found it on that Confederate soldier thatcaptured you."

  I pushed it away and said, "I don't want it. I have quit smoking."