“There they come.” The
Colonel squinted. The line of men came slowly up the road. One hundred and
twenty men from the old Second Maine which had been disbanded. Unfortunately,
these men had signed three-year agreements while the rest of the regiment had
signed two-year agreements. When the old Second Maine had been disbanded, the
three-year men, who only wanted to fight with the two-year men, mutinied.
There were guards with fixed
bayonets. The Colonel could see the utineers shuffling along, pathetic, dusty, with
their heads down. It reminded the Colonel of a history-book picture of
impressed seamen in the last war with England.
An aide said: “Colonel, there’s
almost as many men there as we got in the whole regiment. How are we going to
guard them?” The Colonel said nothing. He was thinking: “How do you force a
man to fight – for freedom?” The idiocy of it jarred him. He realized that
he had to think on that later. He had to do something now.
The Captain at the head of
old Second Maine turned them in off the road
and herded them into an open
space in the field near the Regimental flag.
The Captain had a loud voice
and used obscene words to assemble the men
in two long, ragged lines.
He called them to attention but they ignored him.
One mutineer slumped to the
ground, more out of exhaustion then mutiny.
A guard came forward. He yelled
and probed with a bayonet but abruptly
several more men sat down.
Finally, all of the mutineers sat down.
The Captain began yelling
but the guards stood grinning. The guards had gotten them here but unless the
men posed some type of threat, there was nothing that could be done. The men
were simply exhausted.
The Colonel took it all in
as he moved toward the Captain. The Captain pulled off his dirty gloves and
shook his head with contempt, glowering at the Colonel.
“I am looking for the
commanding officer.”
“You’ve found him,” the
Colonel said. The Captain stared at him insolently,
showing what he thought of
Maine men.
“Captain Brewer, sir.
One-eighteenth Pennsylvania.” The Captain produced a sheaf of paper from his
coat front. “If you are the commanding officer,
sir, then I present you with
these here (pause) prisoners.” The Colonel took the papers and handed them to
his aide.
The Captain pulled on his dirty gloves. “You’re welcome to them. We had to use the bayonet to get’em moving. Your orders state you are authorized to use whatever force necessary, Colonel, to make them serve – including – the authority to shoot any man who refuses to do his duty.”
“You are relieved Captain.” The
Colonel then looked at the guards. “You can leave now. We don’t need any
guards.”
The Colonel stood for a
moment looking down at the mutineers. Some of the faces turned up. There was
hunger, exhaustion, and occasional hatred in their eyes. “My name is
Chamberlain. I’m the Colonel of the Twentieth Maine.”
