A law was made by the Confederate States Congress about this time
allowing every person who owned twenty negroes to go home. It gave us
the blues; we wanted twenty negroes. Negro property suddenly became very
valuable, and there was raised the howl of "rich man's war, poor man's
fight." The glory of the war, the glory of the South, the glory and the
pride of our volunteers had no charms for the conscript.
We were directed to re-elect our officers, and the country was surprised
to see the sample of a conscript's choice. The conscript had no choice.
He was callous, and indifferent whether he had a captain or not. Those
who were at first officers had resigned and gone home, because they were
officers. The poor private, a contemptible conscript, was left to howl
and gnash his teeth. The war might as well have ended then and there.
The boys were "hacked," nay, whipped. They were shorn of the locks of
their glory. They had but one ambition now, and that was to get out
of the army in some way or other. They wanted to join the cavalry or
artillery or home guards or pioneer corps or to be "yaller dogs," or
anything.
[The average staff officer and courier were always called "yaller dogs,"
and were regarded as non-combatants and a nuisance, and the average
private never let one pass without whistling and calling dogs.
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