The eagle., November 28, 1894, Page 10, Image 10

About The eagle. (Silver City, N.M.) 1894-1???

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10
TUB KAttLK: WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 28, 1894.
THE LOST REGIMENT.
THE MAJOK 8 EXECUTION.
During the war of secession I served for
three years in the confederate army. I
belonged to what was known as the For
lorn regiment.
I was only 17 when I joined the regi
ment, but that was not an unusual thing
in the southern armies, and in my case
I had the less difficulty of being admit
ted to the ranks because my father, Cap
tain Atkins, commanded the company
which I joined. He was shot through
the head threedays after I reached camp,
so I was not long without feeling to the
full the horrors of war.
The Forlorn regiment received its name
because it vrat always employed when
ever a forlorn hope was needed, and be
cause the men were so gloomy and re
served, and never joked and laughed and
enjoyed themselves like the soldiers of
the other regiments. After the loss of
my father I soon fell in with their ways.
There was no merry-making in our regi
ment. After a victory there would be
hand-shakings and solemn congratula
tions, but no laughing or singing. The
truth was that after we once acquired
our reputation no recruit who had a lik
ing for jollity would join us. If any sueh
did come among us he always changed
to some other regiment as quickly as he
could. The recruits who stayed were
soler, earnest, gloomy men like the rest
of us, who had heard that the regiment
had never yet given back when the col
onel bade them stand their ground, and
who wished to share .the glory of our
reputation. We were always on the
march or fighting, and that was just
what we liked.
How it was that we kept up our un
broken series of victories I do not know.
It was not because we were given easy
tasks, for we often attempted what
seemed the impossible. It was partly
In-cause we fought with the discipline of
automatons and the fury of so many
devils. The confederate armies suffered
defeats from time to time ; we never
Imponed to le present. Hut we were
at Hull Hun, and at (roveton, and at
Fredericksburg, and at scores of other
battles. We had the good fortune that
proverbially attends the desperate. To
most soldiers, however brave, the fear of
death is something that holds them back
from doing what they might do. To us
death was a matter of indifference. One
of the few times I can rememlier a smile
traveling over the grim faces of our regi
ment was at roll call on the morning
after the second Hull Run, when we had
lost a third il our men. The ranks tilled
gradually after that battle, but they
were never so full as before. Our regi
ment was respected, but it was never
popular.
On the fifth day of September, 1863,
the regiment was under arms early, as
usual, and ready to march. We were
encamped at some distance from the rest
of our brigade, at the foot of a little hill,
somewhere in the western part of Vir
ginia; I never knew the name of the
place. A quarter of a mile or so from
the hill were some straggling woods with
open country beyond; but we were not
afraid of a surprise, for the old colonel
was very careful alxmt posting vedettes.
Instead of forming us in marching
column as usual, the colonel drew us all
up company front, as he did at parades.
Then we knew there was to be an execu
tion, for the colonel never delayed the
march for anything else.
I had seen several executions since I
joined the regiment; they were not un
common. . For any serious breach of
discipline the offender was shot. John
Callender was shot for falling asleep at
his post, though he had not slept for
three nights, and though his brother
Amos had gone down on his knees to
the colonel and begged for mercy. Noth
ing ever moved the colonel.
I knew that there had lieen a court
marshal the night before, but who was
the offender and what was his fate I had
not learned. Imagine my astonishment
when I saw the major of the regiment I
led out in front of us with his hands tied
behind his back. j
Major Freeland and Colonel Hen
dricks never agreed well, except in ac
tion. There they were both cool, reso
lute and utterly fearless, and both
seemed able to foresee what the other
desired. Hut other times they were
sure to be at loggerheads. Major Free
land was the darling of his regiment.
He disapproved of the harshness of the
colonel's discipline. The colonel consid
ered the major as a very lax officer,
though he was really as strict as any one
could desire. In fact, the colonel had
been heard to say that if he were killed
his only reason for regretting it would
be.tbat Major Freeland would succeed
him in command. Such smoldering
passions are easily fanned to a (lame.
I do not know what the major had
done. He was condemned as having
"held communication with the enemy."
I lielieved him as loyal as the colonel
himself; and the whole regiment.except
the colonel, believed him innocent. Hut
Colonel Hendricks had influenced the
other officers at, the court-martial, and
now Major Freeland was to be shot.
Our regiment was so different from the
others and kept so much apart from the
rest of the army that we had a good
iniany customs peculiar to ourselves. All
these customs were carried out with the
most rigorous formality. The ceremony
that attended an execution was esitecial-
ly remarkable. Our executions were all
done in the most public manner possi
ble, so that mutineers and deserters
might know what to expect. The regi
ment was drawn up in line, and then the
colonel read aloud the names of the six
best marksmen in the regiment. These
six men stepped forward and took their
position at some thirty yards' distance
from the criminal. The prisoner was
stationed near a tree. On his breast
was pinned a piece of white paper, cut
in the shape and size of a heart, and a
similar paper was attached to the tree.
The major gave the orders: "Ready!
Aim I Fire!" The six men fired at the
heart on the tree, and I never knew one
of them to miss it. Then the major gave
the orders again, and this time they
aimed at the heart pinned on the pris
oner. The custom had arisen from an inci
dent in the first year of the war. A de
serter, sentenced to be shot, had been
wounded but not killed, and bad suf
fered terribly before he died. After this
unfortunate accident,Major Freeland had
devised the plan of the duplicated heart
pinned to the tree so as to make sure
that not a hand was trembling and not
an eye was untrue. Since then, every
criminal has been killed at the first vol
ley. And now it seemed that the major was
to enjoy the small benefit coming from
the plan devised by his own humanity.
How I remember that scene! The old
colonel standing still as a statue with
one hand on his horse's mane; the major
erect and defiant as we had seen him a
hundred times in battle, only now his
hands were tied behind his back; the
grim line of six lanky veterans waiting
for the word of command. Amos Cal
lender was one of them. He had taken
part in every execution since the regi
ment was formed, except when his own
brother was shot ; for he was the bet
marksman in the regiment. Every one
of the six would have given his life for
the major; and now they were to send
six bullets through his heart.
The day was perfect. The sun was
rising high in the east. In the west,
great white clouds were sailing lazily
before the wind, as they do in midsum
mer. The birds were singing every
where. It was a day when life seemed
very sweet; a day for living, not dying. .
The major had asked and obtained the
privilege of giving the orders to aim
and fire himself. He was a fine man to
look at, Major Freeman. Six feet three
in his stocking feet, and a noble head on
a noble pair of shoulders. He had light
ened our backs of many burdens that
the colonel had laid on them ; and now,
in spite of the colonel's frown and our
usually perfect discipline, there was
muttering in the ranks.
The paper heart was pinned to the