Reminiscences of a Bummer

Sunday, March 6, 2011

In commemoration of the 150th anniversary of the start of the Civil War, I would like to honor my great-great grandfather Michael McDonald in a series of blogs including his written accounts of his Civil War experiences.

His own words continue with his explanation of the realities of the war.  Among his responsibilities was helping to provide for the troops when they were cut off from the supply base.  Please keep in mind what was acceptable language in the 1800s and the dire needs of the soldiers when you read this account.  Here is Michael's story--his "Reminiscenses of a Bummer."
 
From Atlanta down to the sea and northward, my comrade Joe Deffoe and myself had been detailed as the official foragers of Company E.  We were two of that necessary and much talked about, somewhat unique branch of the military establishment of the civil war known in history as "Sherman's Bummers."


The great army cut loose from its base of supplies at Atlanta and marched into the vital parts of the Confederacy, depending upon the country it passed through for its daily food.  It was our business to get this food for Company E and it has never been charged that the supply failed.  Our duties were hazardous and always exciting.  The retreating rebels were but a few miles in advance of us.  It was our daily business to mount our horses and start out in the morning to visit the neighboring farm houses, keep along in the advance of the army and return into camp at night with our plunder.  Skirmishes between the bummers and the enemy were of daily occurrence and our risk of being captured great, but we enjoyed the exciting experience.  The race among the bummers to first reach a plantation caused them to take many chances.  We usually found no one at home but the women and the colored folks, the provisions hid, and the darkeys willing to give away the hiding place under threat or promise to take them along with us.


One day's experience will suffice for many.  My associate bummer and myself rode up to a planation house, dismounted, make a careful search of the house, barns and outbuildings but found nothing eatable.  Finally we caught a colored boy and a conversation like this followed:


"Sam, where are those hams?"


"Fo' de Lo'd, massa, I, douno."


"Yes you do, you black rascal.  Tell us where those hams are."


"But my massa don' shore kill dis here darkey if he ebber tell about dem 'yar hams."


"But we'll kill you if you don't.  See here, Sam; tell us and we'll take you along up north."


"Shore, massa, wont yo' do dis boy no ha'm and tak him norf wid yo's?"


We solemnly promise.  Sam finds a shovel and leads the way to the smoke-house.  The floor is removed and a few feet beneath the surface half a wagon-load or more of ham and bacon are found securely buried. 


"Now, massa, I'm gwine ter show yo' wher' dat ches' am buried."


And with visions of buried treasure, we follow Sam out into the fields and stand by while he unearths a large wooden chest, which, upon investigation, we find contains a few silk dresses and other female finery, an old fashioned white stove-pipe hat and an antiquated swallow-tail dress coat. 


That night the foragers of Company E drove into camp upon a wagon loaded with hams, bacon, cornmeal, poultry, vegetables and other luxuries of the season.  The wagon was drawn by a mule and the mule was driven by Sam.  The writer was attired in the swallow-tailed coat and white plug-hat, and Joe, his fellow bummer, in an equally fantastic costume. 


We fulfilled our promise to Sam.  He came North as the servant of Major Worden, commanding our battallion of the 14th Wisconsin. 


But one night the bummers of Company E failed to return to camp...

My next blog will describe the story of his capture and imprisonment.

Click here for next entry.