Texans Foraging For Christmas

Confederate Veteran
Volume 3, Number12, Page 362
December 1895

J. B. Polley of Floresville, Texas, (November 23, '95), copies an interesting story which is so vivid that comrades will go back the third of a century in its amusing perusal.

Mr. Polley states that the writer of the original is a grandfather now the fair lady to whom it was addressed, a grandmother, but "his'n is'nt her'n" nor "her'n, his'n." The excerpts are copied from the yellow stained paper on which the original was written.

MORRISTOWN, TENN.
January 20, 1864.

CHARMING NELLIE:
The Texas Brigade left Bean's Station on the morning of December 22. Jack S. Green and I determined to forage for material for a Christmas dinner. Straggling off on a byroad, we tramped about the country all day, slept in a house that night, and next morning our haversacks filled to overflowing with the good things of life wended our way, in the best humor imaginable, toward Morristown. Of course we kept a sharp lookout for provost guards, and were not surprised to come upon one of those despised but lordly individuals, complacently standing in the road ahead of us.

Jack and Green proposed to "flank the enemy," but having great confidence in the powers of persuasion and argument which had extricated me from many a predicament, I finally induced them to join me in a bold advance. Giving the fellow no time to make inquiries, I stated to him that we had just been relieved from guard duty, and asked to be directed to the camp of the Texas Brigade. While politely and promptly furnishing the desired information, he most unkindly arrested us as stragglers.

But we are not stragglers, I insisted "We left the command yesterday, guarded a private house last night according to orders, and must return to camp at once." Maybe so, said the guard with a provoking smile, "I ain't a disputin' nothin', but we can't let you pass, orders are to stop everybody that hain't a pass." Call your corporal, Gen. said I, and that officer appearing, exercised upon him every blandishment and argument at my command, but alas, without in the least softening his obdurate heart. Carry us to the officer of the guard, I demanded, "I reckon he will have a little common sense." It isn't common sense or any other kind he's got to have he has simply got to obey orders responded the corporal as he led the way to the huge guard fire.

By this time Jack was mad as a hornet, his glances at me lowering, savage, contemptuous, once he sidled up to me and remarked in a tone of withering scorn "Now, darn your old hide, you've got us in a of a pickle by your confounded faith in your ability to out talk people." Wait a while, old fellow, I replied, "no telling what may happen." But I had more misgivings than my words indicated, and I had still more when the Lieutenant politely but positively refused to release us.

When the ultimatum fell on his ears, Jack dropped down before the fire with a surly groan. Green looked blue and smiled in a sickly manner, and I felt that my last hope was departing. But "nil desperadum" is my motto whenever I get into trouble, I entered at once into conversation with the Lieutenant, and learning that he was a Georgian, complimented the soldiers of his state, and especially those of the Eighteenth Regiment so extravagantly yet judiciously, as to persuade him into a real good humor, and was wondering how to utilize my advantage, when, on the other side of the fire, partly concealed by a blanket, I espied a fiddle and a bow.

Like a flash the inspiration came, I stepped around the fire, boldly seized the instruments, and handing them to Jack, said in the most cheery tone imaginable, "Give us some music, old boy."

You never in your life saw such a sudden change as occurred then and there in Jack's countenance, every shadow and trace of ill humor disappeared in an instant, and a smile that was absolutely charming, irradiated his homely features. He grasped the fiddle and began to tune it, with an eagerness that was surprising, for he is much more fastidious ordinarily about the violin he plays on, than about his eating", neither the landlord nor the quality of the food affects his appetite, but he has an unutterable horror of drawing the bow across the strings of any except his own violin. That has such a sweet and powerful tone, and Jack made such delightful music on it, that Col. Winkler carries it with his private baggage in order to have it always at hand when Jack is in the humor to play.

Little music as I have in my benighted soul, I discovered at his first scrape of the bow that it was a miserable apology for a fiddle. It did not seem to matter with Jack though, whether he felt the need of music just then to soothe his own savage breast, or imagined that he might use it as a means of securing release from "durance vile," he handled the bow with a deftness and heartiness, that made the hills and hollows of East Tennessee echo and reecho with delicious strains. He put his whole mind to the business as if there was nothing else in the world worth doing, kept time with one foot, wagged his head from Side to side for the half beats, and never once forgot to keep his hard favored countenance illumined with a smile that was a plea to his captors, totally unexpected charm to his fellows in misfortune.

The Georgians expected only a little amateur sawing, but Jack had not got halfway through "The Devil's Dream" ere they realized that a master hand wielded the bow and the highest order of musical genius directed the hand. Entering fully into the spirit of the occasion, some of them began to pat, others to shuffle their feet, and all to nod their heads and show their teeth with delight. Jack was not so overcome by the divine afflatus as to be unconscious of surroundings, and marking the impression made on his auditors, played, told and acted "The Arkansas Traveller" changing his voice to mimic first the strong one of the traveler, and then the weak, piping tones of the chill stricken settler, and question and answer having been given, making the woods ring with melody from the violin. You could even hear the traveler ask, "Where does this road go to, sir?" then the reply of the settler, "Taking one nowhere, stranger, since we'uns bin livin' in these woods." Then the first part of the tune the only part the settler knew would be played over and over again until interrupted by another question, Jack would stop sawing long enough to answer and then begin again. It is a long story you know, for you must have heard some old darkey play and act it, but Jack not only told all of it I ever heard, but a good deal more. Finally, reaching the place where the traveler asks, "Why don't you play the balance of that tune?" Jack, as he repeated the question, handed me the fiddle and bow, and then answering it, "'Case I ain't never heard it stranger kin you play it?" personated the traveler by reaching for the instrument and playing the balance of the tune with a spirit that made a final conquest of our Georgia captors.

From the "Arkansas Traveller," Jack switched off suddenly to "Gray Eagle," and as he played, called all the turns of start, backstretch, homestretch and finish of the grand Kentucky race that was the inspiration of the author in composing the music. Indeed, it was a revelation of genius, of the wonderful power of a master to extract the sweetest music from an old, weatherbeaten and war worn fiddle, and of histrionic and pantomimic talent, which held the auditors breathless and spellbound.

A radical metamorphosis had taken place in the performer. Generally, we have to beg Jack to play, and, when he consents, it is with the lordly, far away manner of one who feels that he is "casting pearls before swine." He rebukes any request for a particular tune by a forbidding frown or a curt, gruff remark that the instrument is not in tune for it, and with a frown, says to the offender more plainly than words, "What do you know about music that warrants your presumption in selecting a tune for me to play?" But now no longer surly of voice and crusty of manner, he was the most mild tempered and accommodating of mortals, and let the strings down or screwed them up at the slightest hint of choice on the part of our hosts, and played every tune called for with an alacrity which demonstrated that it was the very one he was most anxious to play.

How long the music lasted, I cannot say. for captors and captured forgot time, the world and all its sordid cares, as they sat around the big log fires. At last however, there was a lull, a hush, a silence. Jack laid the fiddle and the bow, tenderly on a blanket, brushed from his eyes the tears evoked either by the smoke or the exalted condition of his mind, and reached out for a coal with which to light his pipe, the Circean spell that enthralled minds and hearts was broken, and the auditors, drawing long breaths of sorrow, became once more human being's, "of the earth, earthy."

My tumble from supernal realms was not so precipitate as to drive from my mind the direness of our extremity. With the genius of a great captain, I laid instant ho'.d on the favorable impression made by the music, and rising to my feet, ready equipped for departure, looked the Lieutenant full in the face with a confident smile, saying, "Well gentlemen, we must be getting on to camp."

Jack looked up at the words, astonishment depicted in every line of his rugged face, but when the gallant Georgian smiled kindly back at me and said, "Yes you fellows go up the hill behind the fence to that skirt of timber yonder, then follow the timber down to the load and you'll get to camp all right but of course, if you are caught again, you will not give us away," the astonishment vanished to be replaced by a look of inexpressible relief.

Little conversation was indulged in until all points of danger safely passed. Jack turned to me, and with a disgustingly self complacent air said: "You ain't worth a Joe. You can always rely on me though, to get out of a bad scrape. We would be on our way to Captain Scott's quarters now, if I hadn't dazed that Lieutenant with the music I gave him."

I felt outraged that the prominent part I had taken in the happening of the last few hours should be so conceitedly ignored. "The devil you say, I restorted, "You did draw a good bow, but you lacked the wit, either to hunt for the fiddle or, after the battle was won, to take advantage of success. It was my unparalleled and sublime conception to pretend that we were mere visitors whose departure would not be opposed. You and Green would have begged for release 1 was the Napoleon who seized the golden opportunity and trotted you fellows out of danger into our present safety was'nt I, Green?" [How very, very modest! ED.]

Thus appealed to, Green looked as wise as an owl, and weighing each word as carefully as if giving an opinion on a question of law said, Well boys it strikes me this way, Jack can beat all creation a scrapin' o' catgut, and Joe is ! when it comes to workin' them jaws of his, and sticking the words in pointedly. Betwixt fiddling and chin music, you fellows got away with the Lieutenant. Green's judicious administration of soft soap restored amity. The first tents of the regiment approached, were those of the band. Pausing here to overlook the camp and get its geography, I glanced to the right, and there, fifty yards away, stood Col. Winkler and Sergeant Major Brown, looking straight at us.

I picked the old hen and rooster that had fallen to my share of the capture, and salted them down for cooking the next day. Just as I finished the job, Brown sauntered up near me and I asked him what Col. Winkler had said when he saw us coming in. "He just asked where you fellows had been," said Brown, "and I told him you were returning from guard duty." "Did he swallow the lie?" T asked. 'Of course not," said Brown, "he is no fool you got in too late in the day to be mistaken for men relieved of guard duty."

Christmas morning, I invited Lieut. Brahan of Company F. then acting Adjutant of the regiment Page and Mr. Bunting, the Chaplain of the Terry Rangers, to take dinner with me. I promised them a chicken pie, and anxious that it should be a masterpiece of its kind, gave my whole mind to its preparation. I had carried operations to the point where the least carelessness would be ruinous to hopes and pie, when Brahan walked hastily down from the Colonel's quarters and stopping a hundred yards from me, called out loudly, "Joe Col. Winkler wants you to report to him immediately."

Truly, I was in a nice predicament. A fat hen and rooster in the skillet on a hot fire, just at that stage of cookery which required the utmost delicacy of management, and I, the only living person thoroughly capable of giving it, called away at the very culmination of the critical moment. It was enough to provoke a saint especially when it was a question whether he would be permitted to return to his pie, or be sent to the guardhouse.

Judging from their countenances, Jack and Green felt the same consternation I did. Jack kindly volunteered to take care of the pie, but knowing that he had already eaten up his share of plunder, I distrusted him, and requested "Joe Bowers" of Company D., to watch it. Then in fear and trembling, I went to the Colonel's tent. As I entered, he rose from the Adjutant's, desk, and saying, "I wish you would sit down here, Joe and copy this application," handed me three closely written pages of foolscap.

I'll do it with the greatest pleasure. Colonel, said I, relieved of every apprehension except for the pie, "but see here 1 have a couple of chickens on the fire, and I am afraid they will get burnt can't I do your work after dinner?" No, said he, "It is an application to transfer our three Texas regiments to Texas, and a staff officer is waiting at Longstreet's headquarters to carry it to Richmond. You copy it at once, and I'll go down and see after the chickens." I'll do the work at, once then, Colonel, said I hastily, "but you need'nt bother about the chickens they are in charge of Joe Bowers the only man the regiment who won't steal."

The Colonel laughed heartily at my evident doubt of his good faith, and I copied the application in a hurry, and then flew on the wings of hunger and apprehension, to my mess of pottage. The crust was a little burned, the gravy had a flavor of smoke, .but the pie was still very toothsome to a Confed. Better than all, neither Jack, Green, nor I have been punished for an offence that has kept half a dozen of our comrades in the guardhouse ever since Christmas.