These mountain
streams are unreliable. We had come to regard the one on which we are encamped
as a quiet, orderly little river, that would be good enough to notify us when
it proposed to swell out and overflow the adjacent country. In fact we had
bragged about it, made all sorts of complimentary mention of it, put our tents
on its margin, and allowed it to encircle our sick and wounded; but we have now
lost all confidence in it. Yesterday, about noon, it began to rise. It had been
raining, and we thought it natural enough that the waters should increase a
little. At four o'clock it had swelled very considerably, but still kept within
its bed of rock and gravel, and we admired it all the more for the energy
displayed in hurrying along branches, logs, and sometimes whole trees. At six
o'clock we found it was rising at the rate of one foot per hour, and that the
water had now crept to within a few feet of the hospital tent, in which lay two
wounded and a dozen or more of sick. Dr. McMeens became alarmed and called for
help. Thirty or more boys stripped, swam to the island, and removed the
hospital to higher ground-to the highest ground, in fact, which the island
afforded. The boys returned, and we felt safe. At seven o'clock, however, we
found the river still rising rapidly. It covered nearly the whole island. Logs,
brush, green trees, and all manner of drift went sweeping by at tremendous
speed, and the water rushed over land which had been dry half an hour before,
with apparently as strong a current as that in the channel. We knew then that
the sick and wounded were in danger. How to rescue them was now the question. A
raft was suggested; but a raft could not be controlled in such a current, and
if it went to pieces or was hurried away, the sick and wounded must drown.
Fortunately a better way was suggested; getting into a wagon, I ordered the
driver to go above some distance, so that we could move with the current, and
then ford the stream. After many difficulties, occasioned mainly by floating
logs and driftwood, and swimming the horses part of the way, we succeeded in
getting over. I saw it was impossible to carry the sick back, and that there
was but one way to render them secure. I had the horses unhitched, and told the
driver to swim them back and bring over two or three more wagons. Two more
finally reached me, and one team, in attempting to cross, was carried down
stream and drowned. I had the three wagons placed on the highest point I could
find, then chained together and staked securely to the ground. Over the boxes
of two of these we rolled the hospital tent, and on this placed the sick and
wounded, just as the water was creeping upon us. On the third wagon we put the
hospital stores. It was now quite dark. Not more than four feet square of dry
land remained of all our beautiful island; and the river was still rising. We
watched the water with much anxiety. At ten o'clock it reached the wagon hubs,
and covered every foot of the ground; but soon after we were pleased to see
that it began to go down a little. Those of us who could not get into the
wagons had climbed the trees. At one o'clock it commenced to rain again, when
we managed to hoist a tent over the sick. At two o'clock the long-roll, the
signal for battle, was beaten in camp, and we could just hear, above the roar
of the water, the noise made by the men as they hurriedly turned out and fell
into line.
It will not do,
however, to conclude that this was altogether a night of terrors. It was, in
fact, not so very disagreeable after all. There was a by-play going on much of
the time, which served to illuminate the thick darkness, and divert our minds
from the gloomier aspects of the scene. Smith, the teamster who brought me
across, had returned to the mainland with the horses, and then swam back to the
island. By midnight he had become very drunk. One of the hospital attendants
was very far gone in his cups, also. These two gentlemen did not seem to get
along amicably; in fact, they kept up a fusillade of words all night, and so
kept us awake. The teamster insisted that the hospital attendant should address
him as Mr. Smith. The Smith family, he argued, was of the highest
respectability, and being an honored member of that family, he would permit no
man under the rank of a Major-General to call him Jake. George McClellan
sometimes addressed him by his christian name; but then George and he were
Cincinnatians, old neighbors, and intimate personal friends, and, of course,
took liberties with each other. This could not justify one who carried out pukes
and slop-buckets from a field hospital in calling him Jake, or even Jacob.
Mr. Smith's
allusions to the hospital attendant were not received by that gentleman in the
most amiable spirit. He grew profane, and insisted that he was not only as good
a man as Smith, but a much better one, and he dared the bloviating mule
scrubber to get down off his perch and stand up before him like a man. But
Jake's temper remained unruffled, and along toward morning, in a voice more
remarkable for strength than melody, he favored us with a song:
Ho! gif ghlass uf goodt lauger du me;
Du mine fadter, mine modter, mine
vife:
Der day's vork vos done, undt we'll see
Vot bleasures der vos un dis
life,
Undt ve sit us aroundt mit der table,
Undt ve speak uf der oldt, oldt
time,
Ven we lif un dot house mit der gable,
Un der vine-cladt banks uf der
Rhine;
Undt mine fadter, his voice vos a quiver,
Undt mine modter; her eyes vos un
tears,
Ash da dthot uf dot home un der river,
Undt kindt friendst uf earlier
years;
Undt I saidt du mine fadter be cheerie,
Du mine modter not longer lookt
sadt,
Here's a blace undt a rest for der weary,
Und ledt us eat, drink, undt be
gladt.
So idt ever vos cheerful mitin;
Vot dtho' idt be stormy mitoudt,
Vot care I vor der vorld undt idts din,
Ven dose I luf best vos about;
So libft up your ghlass, mine modter,
Undt libft up yours, Gretchen, my
dear,
Undt libft up your lauger, mine fadter,
Undt drink du long life und good
cheer.
SOURCE: John
Beatty, The Citizen-soldier: Or, Memoirs of a Volunteer, p. 58-62
