[Illustration: {A soldier with a gun-sling in the firing position.}]
We were armed with the old Buck and Ball musket, which we were to
exchange for the Enfield rifles. Word was given to the different
companies to send details for guns. The Company B detail was
dispatched. Soon the boxes were brought, and opened. Behold a mistake
had been made, and the boys thought on purpose. Instead of the
Enfield, the boxes contained the same kind of guns we already had. The
men were indignant, and refused to accept them, but finally concluded
to use them awhile, as they were new and bright. The guns were
distributed, and boxes ordered back, a procession formed a la
funeral. An escort, with reversed guns, and music, and every
conceivable thing that any noise could be got out of, followed to
Quarter master's depot. A volley was fired over the boxes, and the
procession returned to quarters. Soon, a racket was heard in vicinity
of Company B. Every other man had a gun sling around his body, and was
down on all-fours. The other fellows had a gun thrust between the
gun-sling and along the man's spine, firing blank cartridges. As soon
as the gun was fired, the man on the ground would assume a sitting
posture, with the muzzle up. Then the gunner would ram cartridge, and
the gun would immediately assume the horizontal, again to be fired.
There were some 40 of the company engaged in this. That night, after
the racket, the 14th New York's Sutler lost a barrel of whiskey,
rolled out from under his tent early in the evening, while the
proprietor was engaged in front with a special delegation sent to
occupy him and his assistants, while the feat was being performed. It
never was found, but you could buy a canteen-full for $5.00 of one who
knew where it was. Details were made to hunt for it, but it was never
brought to view, but some of the detail were quite drunk when they
returned. I will relate an incident that occurred while encamped on
Arlington, as stated before in this narrative: while stationed there,
we were daily beset by hucksters and traffickers. They would vend
their wares to the boys, and go away, apparently happy, but soon
return again, seeming to be dissatisfied with what they received for
their goods. One day, a pompous Jew drove over from Georgetown, a big
wagon-load of goods drawn by four-in-hand. Sales were small until he
struck Company B, the writer's company. Here he cried his wares.
Finally a syndicate was formed, and approached the vender of goods,
with the proposition to buy his entire stock. They would give so
much, provided he had a certain amount of the ardent in his outfit. He
seemed to be satisfied with the situation, and answered, he had what
they desired. The bargain was closed, and money paid in bills. Our
goods were unloaded, and he departed, highly elated. But it was not
long. He soon returned, alone, and inquired of the writer for the
Colonel's tent. The writer edged around, as near as possible, to hear
what was said. The Jew was swinging his arms, and gesticulating
fiercely. The Colonel listened until he got through, then I heard him
say, in reply, "you ought to be satisfied with small profits on so
large a sale." He replied: "Colonel, the monish is not good, it is one
Erie and Kalamazoo monish." The Colonel told him the result was as
good as the intent, and dismissed him, and we did not see him again.
The boys bought him out slick and clean, for 600 dollars, and paid him
in new and crisp Michigan Insurance and older bills of Erie and
Kalamazoo. I will say, Company B, was made up of one or two doctors,
as many lawyers, and one preacher, and the rest were gentlemen. The
writer was identified with the latter class.
[Illustration: {The salesman and the Colonel.}]