Part 5

It was a horrible task at first. My duty was to hold the sponge or "cone" of ether to the face of the soldier who was to be operated on, and to stand there and see the surgeons cut and saw legs and arms as if they were cutting up swine or sheep, was an ordeal I never wish to go through again. At intervals, when the pile became large, I was obliged to take a load of legs or arms and place them in a trench near by for burial. I could only stand this one day, and after that I shirked all guard duty. The monotony, the routine of life, in front of Petersburg, was becoming distasteful to me. I had stolen everything I could. My district or territory had given out, so the next day I started for the front to bid my brother good-bye.

Our regiment was sometimes relieved and ordered to the rear for rest; so it was on this occasion, they had fallen back and halted in a little ravine. I met my brother, who always expected me to bring him some stolen sweets or goodies of some kind, but unfortunately this time I came empty-handed. I had failed to find anything to steal. I was hungry myself, but when I looked at him I forgot my own hunger, for such a forlorn appearance as he presented almost broke my heart, and I determined to find him something to eat at all hazards. So off I started on an independent foraging expedition. I had only gone a short distance when I espied a "pie wagon." Usually when the paymaster was around there would be "hucksters" or peddlers with all kinds of commodities following in his wake. This fellow had driven to the front from City Point. They were generally dare-devils, and this one was no exception to the rule. He had driven right up to the front, unhitched his horse and began selling hot mince pies. He had some kind of a stove and outfit in an old covered wagon where he made the pies quickly and sold them hot for one dollar apiece; the pies were about the size of a saucer. When I reached the wagon there was quite a crowd around him; some were buying and eating them as if they were good, while others stood looking on wistfully watching their comrades who were fortunate enough to have the price. I was one of the unfortunates. I could smell the cooking of the pies long before I reached the wagon, and this only served to increase my already ravenous hunger; but all I could do was to stand there with my hands in my pockets, smack my lips and imagine what they tasted like--the longer I staid the better they tasted. I believe I would have given five hundred dollars for one if I had possessed the money, but I didn't have a cent; our regiment had not been paid. All this time I was thinking of my poor brother, how he would like one of those hot pies, and I began to concoct schemes how to get one. The way I worked the old sanitary man would never do to try on this fellow, for he was a "fakir" by birth, occupation and inclination. The fellow was doing a lively business. "Here you are! Nice hot pies, fresh baked, right from the oven! Walk up lively here. Only one dollar apiece! There's only a few of them left, and I shan't be here again for a month; walk up with your dollar! Get off that wheel, you young devil!" I had climbed up on the wheel to make observations and see if I couldn't sneak a pie, but he was watching and detected my motive; so down I got and stood gaping at him, my mouth wide open; but my hungry look had no effect on him, he had no sympathy for anything except dollars. Finally I thought my brother might have a dollar, so back to him I ran, told him of the pies, but he had not a cent. The knowledge of the pies added two fold to his hunger. "Gosh!" he said, "ain't there some way? Can't you steal one?" "No," I said, "I have tried that. I would have made his horse run away and upset his wagon, but the darned cuss had unhitched him."

[Illustration]

"Ge!" I exclaimed, "I have it." And off I started. Charley, my brother, owned an old-fashioned silver watch, one of those old "English levers." He thought a great deal of it as a keep-sake and always gave it to me to keep when he was going into action. I had this watch now, and made up my mind I would trade it to the "fakir" and get a lot of pies for us all. Oh! such bright anticipations of hot mince pies. I could almost see them floating in the air as big as cart wheels, and fearing they would all be sold before I could reach the wagon, I ran as hard as I could. The crowd had thinned out and so had the pies. "How many have you got left?" I eagerly asked. "Oh, plenty," he replied; "how many, do you want?" "Well," I said, nearly out of breath, "I haven't any money, but I want all you have, and I'll trade you a nice watch for them."

"Say, cully! what yer givin' me? I don't want no watch. Let's see it."

I quickly passed it up to him, and stood working my fingers and feet impatiently and revolving in my mind how many pies he would give me and how I would manage to carry them back, when he broke out into a loud, contemptuous laugh, and passed the watch back.

"Say, young fellow, that aint no good. I'd rather have a blacking box than that thing."

"It's silver," I replied.

"That don't make no difference. I'll give you one pie for the thing if you want it, see!"

I turned the watch over and over in my hand, my feelings hurt and my stomach disappointed. Then I thought of my brother, forgot that it was his high-priced time-piece, and quickly said:

"Give me the pie and take the watch."

He did so, and away I started on the dead run, I could hardly resist the temptation of biting the pie; but just before I reached the regiment, and in full sight of my brother, I stumbled and fell, smashing the pie into the dirt and mud. I picked myself up, looked at the crushed pie, and the tears started in my eyes; but only for a moment. I brushed them away, gathered up the pieces and hurried to my brother. We rubbed the mud from the pieces the best we could, and devoured them with a hearty relish. After the pie was gone, I regretted the bargain that I had made. Pie and watch both gone. Remorse took possession of me. I felt guilty; I was conscience-stricken. I was unsatisfied; no more time, no more pie.

"Gosh, that pie was good, wasn't it, 'Pod'?" This was a nickname my brother was pleased to call me by.

"Jinks, I wish you had brought more. Why didn't you try and get two?"

"Well," I said, faltering, "you--you see, I--I didn't have time enough."

"Well, how did you get it, anyway?"

"Oh! I got it on tick." And then I walked over to a stump, thinking I would get away from his questions and all the time revolving in my mind whether I should tell him the truth, or say I had lost it. I felt ashamed of myself and thought what a darned fool I was. I concluded I wasn't a bit smart--the idea of giving a watch for a pie! Finally, Charley came over to me.

"What time is it, Pod?"

"I--I don't know!"

"Why, ain't the watch going?"

"Yes-s. No, it's gone."

"Gone! What do you mean?" And then divining the truth, he exclaimed: "Gor-ram it, did you sell the watch for that pie?"

"Yes, Charley, I did, but I couldn't help it; I knew you wanted the pie so bad."

"Gor-rammed little fool; didn't you know better than that?"

Then I saw the great big tears come into his eyes, and I couldn't stand it. I patted him on the back and said: "Never mind, Charley. I'll go and get the watch back if I have to kill the pie man." So off I started on the dead run, caught the fellow just as he was ready to go. I asked him if I could ride to the rear with him. He answered, "Yes, and you can show me how to get into that turnip watch." So I climbed on to the seat beside him and we started. I took the watch apart, showed him how it was wound, set and regulated it, and was about to hand it back to him, when a shell burst a short way from us, which frightened his horse so that he cramped the wagon and upset it, and in the confusion I got lost with the watch. On the next day I gave it to my brother and told him how I had obtained it. He laughed at me, and said he "guess I'd better keep it myself," and so put it in his pocket. That night the regiment went into action, and my brother was slightly wounded several times. One shot would have proved fatal, but the watch received the bullet and the wound proved fatal only to the watch; it was smashed all to pieces. But my brother prizes the pieces now more than he ever did the whole watch.

The next day my regiment was ordered to the front again. I made up my mind I would not go with them. I concluded I needed rest in order to recuperate, so when the regiment started I bade my brother good-bye, gave him a parting kiss and God's blessings, so off I started.

About a half a mile from my regiment I came to one of those Virginia fences, got up on top of it, and sat thinking, and while sitting there the shells began to fly pretty thick. I thought I had better be moving, jumped down, and as I did so a shell struck one of the rails of the fence. A piece of the rail struck me and was harder than I was, for when I came to my senses I found I was in the hospital. I didn't think I was hurt very badly, but when I tried to get up, found I couldn't. From there they moved me to "Balfour Hospital" at Portsmouth, Virginia. I never will forget the shame and mortification I felt at the sight I must have presented when the boat that conveyed us to Portsmouth arrived.

An old negro came to my bunk and took me on his back, and with a boot in each hand dangling over his shoulder he carried me pickaback through the streets to the hospital, a large, fine building, formerly the "Balfour Hotel," and converted into a hospital after Portsmouth was captured. They took me up stairs into what was formerly the dining-room but now filled with over two hundred little iron beds, and each bed occupied by a wounded soldier. Everything in and about the place was as neat as wax. They carried me to a vacant bed near the center of the room, and I noticed the next bed to mine had several tin dishes hanging over it, suspended from the ceiling. These were filled with water, and from a small hole punctured in the bottom the water would slowly but constantly drip upon some poor fellow's wound to keep it moist. I had just sat down on the side of my bed, when I was startled by the sound of a familiar voice. "Hello, cully! What you been doin', playing with one of those d--d shells, too?"

No, I replied, the shells were playing with me. Then I recognized the occupant of the next bed as my drummer boy acquaintance who had his hands blown off a week ago. What a strange thing that we should be brought together side by side again, both wounded with a shell and nearly on the same spot.

He had changed wonderfully; his little white pinched face told too plainly the suffering he had endured. I asked him how he was getting along.

"Oh I'm getting along pretty d--d fast. I guess I'll croak in a few days."

"Oh you musn't talk that way, you'll be all right in a little while."

"Oh, no, cully, I know better. I'm a goner; I know it. I don't want to live, anyhow. What in h--l is the good of a man without hands?" Then turning his bandaged head towards me, his eyes filling with tears. "I aint afraid to die, cul., but I would like to see my old mother first. Do you think I will?"

Oh, yes, I said, no doubt of it; at the same time I felt that his days were numbered, but I wanted to make him feel as comfortable as possible. He was so much worse off than I, that I forgot my own injuries and was eager to assist him all I could. After a few minutes silence--

"Say, cully, reach under my pillow and find a little book there; it's a little Testament that my dear old mother gave me; read a little for me, will you please? You'll find a place mother marked for me, read that, please."

I turned the leaves over till I found a little white ribbon pinned to a leaf, marking the verse beginning, "Suffer little children to come unto me." I started to read for him, but the tears filled my eyes. I had to stop, and as I did so, I noticed he seemed very quiet. I glanced at him, and the open, staring eyes and the rigid drawn features told me too plainly that the little fellow was out of his sufferings:--he was dead!

"Mother" was the countersign on his lips so thin, And the sentry in heaven _must_ let him in.

I remained here three weeks, finally got up and around and began to think I had enough of soldier life. I had everything I wished for; some ladies in the town--God bless them, I never will forget them--visited the hospital occasionally, and they always took pains to bring me flowers or goodies of some kind. (Pardon me, but somehow I was always a favorite with ladies.) Well, after remaining there three or four weeks I concluded I didn't want to go to the front, so I sat down and wrote a personal letter to Secretary Stanton, told him who, how, and what I was, and asked him to advise me what to do; if I should go to the front or home. Soon after, a special order came back from him to have me transferred to the "2nd Battalion Veteran Reserve Corps."

Let me here state to those who do not understand; all soldiers who were sick or wounded, unfit for field service were transferred to the Veteran Reserve Corps, for the purpose of doing light guard duty in camp, or at headquarters; they were divided into two battalions, 1st and 2nd. The 1st battalion was supposed to be able to carry a musket for duty, while the 2nd battalion was composed of one-armed men or totally disabled soldiers, and were supplied with a small sword; and thus I was condemned by special order; however I liked it. I had an easy time, nothing to do, and others to help me.

I continued here for about two months, until the hospital was ordered to be removed to Old Point Comfort. I had become a great favorite of Lieutenant Russell, the officer in charge of the hospital, and a nice man he was. When the order came to move, the fixtures, furniture, in fact everything in and about the building was ordered to be sold. I was detailed by Lieutenant Russell to remain behind and superintend the sale of the stuff, keep accounts, make a report when all was sold, and turn over the proceeds. That detained me there two weeks longer. I sold the beds, dishes, tables, everything. There remained about thirty tons of coal in the yard to be disposed of. I sold it in any quantity to poor people; took any price for it I could get, the same as everything else. Finally, everything was sold off, and I was ready to depart the next day for Old Point Comfort. In the evening, the two men I had with me and myself, used to get our pipes and sit in front of the office and smoke. We were sitting there talking about the sale, when it occurred to me that I had overlooked the "deadhouse." We went back to it and found seven coffins. What was to be done; they must be sold, as they must be accounted for, and we were going to depart early in the morning. The street was crowded at that time in the evening, so I took the coffins and stood them up on the sidewalk, and everyone that passed by, I would ask him if he wanted to buy a coffin. Finally, I struck a man who offered me seven dollars for the lot, and I took it quick. I learned afterward he was an undertaker.

The next day I landed and reported to headquarters at Fortress Monroe. A day or two after, Lieutenant Russell sent for me; he wanted a foreman in the Government Printing Office. I was down for occupation on the pay-roll as a printer. He asked me if I understood the business. I said yes, I had some knowledge of it, so I was detailed with an extra eight dollars per month. I took charge of the office at once. The first day I had orders to print fifty thousand official envelopes. The press-boy brought me the proof, I looked it over, and marked it correct; they were printed and sent to headquarters.

A few days after Lieutenant Russell sent for me to report at his office. I didn't know what was up. Thought perhaps I was going to be sent to Washington to take charge of the Government Printing Office there. As I went in, the lieutenant turned to me with a quizzical smile on his face:

"Young man, you told me you were a printer?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you 'O. K.' this job?" passing one of the envelopes he held in his hand.

"Yes sir," I answered.

"Umph! Is it correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"It is, eh?"

"Yes-s, sir."

"Umph! how do you spell business?"

[Illustration: _Fortress Monroe where Jefferson Davis was Incarcerated._]

"B-u-i-s-n-e-ss," said I.

"You do, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well," said he in an imperative manner, "our government sees fit to differ with you. You will go to your office and print fifty thousand more, but see that you spell business right, and bring me the proof. The lot you have printed we will send to Washington, and recommend that they be made into a paper mache statue of yourself, and label it 'Buisness' or the only government printer."

I was a little chagrined at the mistake, but did not take it to heart; but I was soon relieved by a man who was more careful in his spelling. A week or so after leaving the printing office, I was sent to the fort to act as a kind of a companion to the confederate president, Jefferson Davis. I was instructed to walk and talk with him. I presume I was intended for a sort of guard. Perhaps our government wished to make him feel as if he were not under surveillance, and so placed one whose insignificant appearance would put him at his ease. However, I found it a very agreeable occupation. One of the most pleasant weeks I ever passed was with Mr. Jefferson Davis. He was a most agreeable man to me. He gave me lots of good advice, and I learned more from conversation with him about national affairs than I ever expected to know; and if I ever become president I will avail myself of the advice and teaching of that great man. He pointed out the right and wrong paths for young men; urged me above all things to adhere strictly to honesty and integrity; to follow these two principles, and I would succeed in business and become great and respected. I thanked him for his kind advice, and pressed his hand good-bye. "Good-bye, my boy," said he. "You have been a comfort to me in my loneliness and sorrow. God bless you, my boy, God bless you!" A great, big something came up in my throat as I turned and left him, and I have regretted all my life that I was not fortunate enough to have the pleasure of meeting him again before he passed away; for I assure you, indulgent readers and comrades, that no matter what he had done, or what mistakes he had made, his memory will always find a warm spot in the heart of that little Drummer Boy from Maine.

One day, soon after this I sauntered down to the steamboat landing and was leisurly beguiling my time with a very large cigar. I noticed some commotion in the harbor but paid more attention to the cigar than anything else. Finally a large ocean steamer came in sight, rounded up near the wharf and let go her anchor. Very soon a "cutter" was lowered manned with sailors and pulled with steady stroke toward the wharf. While watching and wondering what they were going to do with the soldiers which I saw the vessel was loaded with, the "gig" or "cutter" neared the wharf, then I noticed particularly the young officer who sat in the stern, he was very dictatorial and pompous in his orders to the sailors, so much so that I said to myself, that fellow is putting on lots of airs; he thinks he's some pumpkins, I wish he'd fall overboard.