[Illustration: {The exploding barrel.}]
In winter of 1861-2, at Camp Minor's Hill, Virginia, Company B had a
man who was an inveterate forager, in fact, he was peculiarly adapted
to that branch of service. He would be absent a week at a time. When
he showed up in camp, he was put on extra duty, or punished in some
form. At one time he was to stand on a barrel two hours. Some of the
boys dug a hole, and placed about a peck of blank cartridges in the
same; dug a trench to a tent ten feet away and laid a train of powder;
put the barrel over the hole. Soon the culprit was brought, and caused
to mount the barrel. Soon that barrel took a flying leap heavenward
ten feet in the air. The man, with arms and legs extended, and with a
look I never shall forget. When he struck the earth, he said, with a
grim sense of humor, "Well boys, you came damned near translating
me--making a second prophet of me; I am inclined to think the route
you would have caused me to take, would be poor foraging."
On one of his migratorial expeditions, he met with the last enemy to
be conquered--Death. He was fairly educated, and a man of good sense.
He would not learn drill or to handle a musket. He would have made a
proficient spy. I have thought sometimes he was employed in that
capacity, unknown to the Regiment, for he would leave camp as soon as
he was relieved. The barrel episode was the most severe punishment he
ever received, at our hands. It was my province to look after the
Company, and absent ones. I rarely reported him absent. I enjoyed many
a toothsome viand, the result of his foraging. He had at one time ten
thousand dollars, in Erie and Kalamazoo money, and he assured me got
rid of it all.