Colonel George Henry Sharpe, commander of the 120th New York Volunteers was probably not a very happy man in early February 1863. His regiment had not seen much combat since it was formed the previous August when it marched off to war from Kingston, New York. Instead, it was wasting away from sickness in the despondent camp at Falmouth, Virginia, after the disastrous defeat of the Army of the Potomac in December at Fredericksburg and the demoralizing "Mud March" of mid-January. Sharpe was an talented man with an active intelligence, and in the cold and mud of the camp near Falmouth he was intensely frustrated. But he cared for his men as intensely as a mother hen, and they returned the affection, asking him sometimes to lead them, in his fine voice, in a variation on "Benny Heaven's Oh" whose last verse was touch with the sadness all now felt.

From the courts of death and danger, from Tampa's deadly shore,
A wail of manly grief comes up, O'Brien is no more.
In the land of sun and flowers, his head lies pil-lowed low,
No more he'll sing Petite Coqulle, at Benny Haven's O.'

Sharp's service at Fredericksburg also brought him to the attention of his corps commander - Hooker. Sickles was a close friend of Hooker as well. Sickles had not stinted his praise of Sharpe.

A biographer of Sharpe and a family relation, G.B.D. Hasbrouck, had another account of how Sharpe came to Hooker's attention. Hooker was impressed with Sharpe's timely and useful command of French on the battlefield. A New York regiment of French immigrants, whose knowledge of English in an emergency left something to be desired. was being mishandled by its English-only-speaking commander, and milled in confusion, threatening to make a break in the line of battle. Sharpe intervened to issue the commands in fluent parade-ground French, which sent regiment property into the line.

When Hooker took command, he asked to learn the name of the officer who had put the French-speaking regiment into its proper place in the line. Finding it was Sharpe, he ordered the colonel to his headquarters for an interview. He asked Sharpe if he had indeed been the officer who had helped the regiment; when he relied that he was, Hooker further asked how rapidly he could translate French. Sharpe told him he could translate it as fast as he could read it. Hooker had been interested in translating a French book on the organization of a secret service and asked Sharpe to do it as soon as possible. Sharpe quickly delivered the translation and requested to return to his own regiment. Instead, Hooker asked him to prepare a plan for the organization and operation of a secret service to obtain information from the enemy.

Now, please understand that I didn’t want to do any of this crap. None of these choices were mine. Like kids across the nation I was caught in circumstances beyond my control, and I felt that my choices were bad, worse, and worst. I was just a twenty-year-old kid from a small town in southern Illinois. Just a few years before, I had been playing Pony League baseball. My biggest problem was that I couldn’t afford to buy a decent baseball glove. Needless to say, my problems had now escalated by about six order of magnitude.

With a scotch on the rocks in one hand, I took the other and knocked on the flimsy wall next to the olive drab blanket that hung over the door. I thought someone had to be in there as loud as the Led Zeppelin music was blaring. There was a short wait before a hand appeared that grabbed the door blanket and moved it aside.