" Old rivalries developed
between regiments. (It should be noted that the Civil
War soldier's first loyalty went to his regiment,
just as a navy man's loyalty goes to his ship;
he liked to believe that his regiment was better than
all the others, and he would fight for it, any time
and anywhere.) The army legends of those days
tells of a Manhattan regiment, camped near
Washington, whose nearest neighbor was a regiment
from Brooklyn, with which the Manhattanites nursed a
deep rivalry. A minister volunteered to hold
religious services for the men in the ranks.
The
colonel doubted that this would be a good idea.
His men, he said, were rather irreligious, not to say
godless, and he feared they would not give the
reverend gentleman a respectful hearing. But
the minister said he would take his chances;
after all, he had just held services with the
Brooklyn regiment and the men had been very quiet and
devout. That was enough for the colonel.
What the Brooklyn regiment could do, his regiment
could do. He ordered the men paraded for divine
worship, announcing that any man who talked, laughed,
or even coughed would be summarily court-martialed.
So the
clergyman held services, and everyone was
attentive. At the end of the sermon, the
minister asked if any of his hearers would care to
step forward and make a public profession of
faith; in the Brooklyn regiment, he said,
fourteen men had done this. Instantly the New
York colonel was on his feet.
"Adjutant!" he bellowed. "We're
not going to let that damn Brooklyn regiment beat us
at anything. Detail twenty men and have them
baptized at once!"
Each
regiment seemed to have it's own mythology, tales
which might have been false, but to which, by their
mere existence, reflected faithfully certain aspects
of army life. The 48th New York, for instance,
was said to have an unusually large number of
ministers in its ranks, serving not as chaplains but
as combat soldiers. The 48th, fairly early in
the war, found itself posted in a swamp along the
South Carolina coast, toiling mightily in
semitropical heat, amid clouds of mosquitos, to build
fortifications, and it was noted that all hands
became excessively profane, including the onetime
clergymen. A visiting general, watching the
regiment at work on day, recalled the legend and
asked the regiment's lieutenant colonel if he had
himself was a minister in private life.
"Well, no, General," said the officer
apologetically. "I can't say that I was a
regularly ordained minister. I was just one of
those (expletive deleted) local
preachers."
Another
story was hung on this same 48th New York. A
Confederate ironclad gunboat was supposed to be ready
to steam through channels in the swamp and attack the
48th's outposts, and elaborate plans were made to
trap it with obstructions in the channel, a tangle of
ropes to snarl the propellors, and so on. But
it occurred to the colonel that even if the gunboat
was trapped, the soldiers could not get into
it; it was sheathed in iron, all its ports
would be closed, and men with axes could never chop
their way into it. Then the colonel had an
inspiration. Remembering that many of his men
had been recruited from the less savory districts of
New York City, he paraded the regiment and (according
to legend) announced:
"Now
men, you've been in this cursed swamp for two weeks -
up to your ears in mud, no fun, no glory and blessed
poor pay. Here's a chance. Let every man
who has had experience as a cracksman or safeblower
step to the front." To the last man, the
regiment marched four paces and came expectantly to
attention.
