"How a '61 Man Went into the Army"

by Milton Chase, University of Michigan class of 1861

(from Michigan Alumnus, Vol. IX, pp. 12-13)

In the winter of 1860-61 I was one of a mess of nine students, among whom was a man from Vicksburg, Miss., and one from Austin, Tex. These two were called fire-eaters, secessionists. Each always carried a revolver and a bowie knife. From the pine woods of Fox River, Wis., we had a six-foot-two red-hot Abolitionist, a black Republican, always armed with a quick temper and a quicker fist. The prospects of a war between the North and South were frequently discussed, with inflammatory arguments, many times terminating in knock-down conclusions. The Badger always could get his weapons into action quicker than could the fire- eaters. Such was University atmosphere in those days.

On the evening of February 22, 1861, President Henry P. Tappan, that man who is of good and revered memory with all who knew him, delivered a Washington memorial address in the Presbyterian church. He made us believe and realize that Washington was "the first in war, the first in peace, the first in the hearts of his countrymen." Immediately upon concluding the address, the president begged pardon of the audience while he should speak for a few moments of another man, whose character, so far as revealed, was a parallel to that of Washington, and who the speaker thought was facing as mighty a problem as was Washington when he hung up the scythe and took down his sword. He predicted that this man who on the 4th of March, 1861, would become president of the United States, would go down in history as great and worthy a man as Washington; and he invoked the blessing of God on this country and prayed that He would guard and guide the president-elect on the troubled political sea now rippling with the oncoming of a typhoon. As he said Amen, there followed a few seconds of dead silence. Then a low venomous hiss was heard here and there about the church that made many a man twist in his seat and rise to his feet. But at once the clear, magnificent voice of Mrs. McAlister floated out from the gallery where she stood with the flag draped over her shoulder, as she sang the Star Spangled Banner. She quieted the turbulence, held the audience spell-bound to the last word and note.

That address, that song, settled the fate of many a U of M student. I then resolved that if war was necessary to hold these United States together as one country, I would be a soldier of the Union. I graduated as M. D., March 26, 1861, a penniless young man, in doubt as to where I could best serve myself or my country. I wanted to settle down and go to work for myself, and a girl I knew and loved. Yet I feared that in a few months I might be needed on the battle fields. If I married and settled down to work at my profession, I feared I should not do my duty as a patriot. I doubted if I had a right, in the impending crisis of my country, to do that which would probably keep me out of the army. I knew I had no '' pull'' to get a commission as a surgeon, and my pride said, "Don't enlist as a private soldier." In April and May, every time I read a daily paper, I came to the conclusion that I ought to enlist.

The 1st of June I went from Battle Creek up into the then wilderness of Barry County, and hired out to split rails at seventy-five cents a hundred for a man who worked hard, read little, and took only a weekly paper. He was a carpenter, building a house three miles from his home, and I did not see much of him, for he was away from sun to sun. One Friday night early in July, I told him that I should leave his job in the morning, and go and enlist as a soldier in the U. S. army.

Early in the morning we went and counted the rails I had made. When all were counted he divided the total by the number of days I had been with him, and found I had made only twenty-five rails a day! I had not earned my board! He was naturally a little angry, and I was afraid he would soon be more so. I told him I had worked hard at a job I knew nothing about. I told him also I had thought out meanwhile my duty to go into the army, though I should take the lowest place in the ranks, if I could be of use in preserving the United States as one country of freedom and honor. I promised him that as soon as I drew enough money to set me right for my board I would send it to him. If I died before pay day then he might consider that he had subscribed something to his country. He cooled down.

We went to breakfast, after which I took up my satchel, shook hands with his wife and then with him. In his hand, as he extended it, there was a five-dollar bill. "Take that," he said, "and I give you your board bill, too. I do this freely. I cannot leave my wife and our three little children here, but I will do all I can to help Lincoln and his army, and may God bless you."

I walked eighteen miles to Battle Creek, found a recruiting officer, Lieutenant Thayer, and as soon as he could fill out the proper blank, I signed it: Milton Chase, M. D. I had become a private soldier in Co. A, 6th Mich. Infantry.