Old Stonnicker and Colonel Marrow, of 3d Ohio -- General
Garnett and his Dogs -- "Are You the Col-o-nel of this
Post?" -- Profanity in the Army -- High Price of Beans in
Camp -- A Little Game of "draw."
OLD STONNICKER AND COLONEL MARROW, OF 3d OHIO.
A Peculiar specimen of the "genus Virginia" had a great deal of
trouble while our army was encamped at Elkwater. Stonnicker's fences
and sugar-camp were used for fire-wood, corn-field for fodder,
apple-trees stripped.
Stonnicker's family were sick. One of his oldest gals had the "soger's
fever." He "guessed she must o' cotched it from either the 3d Ohio or
17th Ingeeana Regiment, as the officers kept a comin' there so much."
One day he sent for Colonel Marrow, and the Colonel obeying the
summons, Stonnicker said:
"Colonel, one of my children is dead, and I haven't any thing to bury
the child in."
The Colonel, a kind-hearted gentleman, had a neat coffin made; lent
the old man horses and an ambulance, and attended personally to the
burial, at which the old man took on "_amazingly_."
An hour or two after the funeral, old Stonnicker strolled up to the
Colonel's quarters.
"Colonel," said he, as the tears rolled down his cheeks; "Colonel,
what shall I do?"
The Colonel, thinking he was mourning over the loss of his
lately-buried child, replied:
"O, bear up under such trials like a man."
"Wal, I know I orto; but, Colonel, can't you do something for me? It
is too bad! I feel so miserable! Boo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!"
"O, come, be a man," said the Colonel; "any thing I can do for you
shall be done, willingly."
"O, Colonel! I knowed it; I knowed it. My old woman allers said you
was a fust-rate feller; and, Colonel, ef you'll only pay me for them
two stacks of hay your men took from my field, I shall be mighty glad,
for I want the money."
It is needless to say that the Colonel's sympathies instantly ceased,
and, turning on his heel, he might have been heard to say, "O, d----n
you and your hay."
GENERAL GARNETT AND HIS DOGS.
It was said by the boys that at the battle in which General Garnett
was killed, a favorite dog of his was with him on the field. During
the three months following I saw not less than fifty dogs, each one
said, positively, to be the identical dog belonging to the rebel
general.
ARE YOU THE COL-O-NEL OF THIS POST?
I was seated one day in the telegraph office at Beverly. Prince was
the telegrapher, and he was communicating with some female at
Buckhannon, telling her to come over on the next train. While enjoying
a lump of white sugar dissolved in hot water, sent by Uncle Peter
Thomson, especially to cure my cold, a big, brawny Irishman entered
the office, and, as I was rigged out in the Secession uniform of
Captain Ezzard, of the Gate City Guards, Atlanta, Georgia, I was
mistaken for a general by the said Irishman, who accosted me much
after this style:
"Good mornin' to ye, sur. And how are yees dis mornin'?"
"Good morning, sir," said I.
"Sure, sir," said he; "are you the Col-o-nel of this post? for it was
him I was towld to ax for--for a pass to get to see my wife, who lives
five miles away from here, adjoining the white church, forninst the
first woods to the right as you go to Huttonsville."
As soon as he finished his speech I informed him I was not the
Col-o-nel, but that Colonel William Bosley was the gentleman he must
see. I told him, moreover, that "the Colonel was a very cross man;
very strict in his discipline: if he didn't approach him "just so," he
would very likely refuse any pass, and kick him into the bargain."
"Thank you, sur; thank you, sur. O, but I'll approach him right. Never
fear me!"
I pointed him to the marquee, in front of which was a large stake, or
post, for hitching horses.
"There," said I, "you see; that's the post."
"Well, sur; plaise to tell me what I must do?"
"You must go three times round the post; make your bow; place your
hands behind you; walk to the entrance of his tent, and inquire, 'If
he commands that post?' Tell him you want to see your wife, and the
pass, no doubt, will be given you."
The Irishman did as requested. Colonel Bosley said he knew there was a
joke up, and humored it; and after putting all sorts of grotesque
questions to the man, he was allowed to go on his way, rejoicing.
HIGH PRICE OF BEANS IN CAMP--A LITTLE GAME OF "DRAW."
Beans were excessively high, one season, in our army. I have seen
Charley Brutton and Lieutenant Southgate and Captain Frank Ehrman, and
other officers, pay as high as five cents apiece for them. Brutton
said he intended to make bean-soup of his. Often, while I stood
looking at parties around a table, I heard remarks like these:
"Ten beans better than you."
I suppose he meant that his ten beans were better than his opponent's
ten beans. Then some one of the party, seated at the end of the table,
would say:
"I SEE THEM TEN BEANS."
Well, so did I, and everybody else about there. We couldn't help but
see them. Why, therefore, need he make so superfluous a remark? Then
the other would say:
"I CALL YOU."
But I didn't hear him _call_. All he would do was, to lay his beans on
the pile in the middle of the table, and soon they all spread out some
pictures and dots that were printed on white pasteboard. Then _one
man_ reaches out his hand and _draws_ over the beans to his side; and
he smiles complacently, and all the others look beat and crabbed. And
this they call a little game of _draw_.
Charley Clark and Captain Westcott say 'tis a bad practice; _and they
ought to know_.
PROFANITY IN THE ARMY.
It is astonishing how rapidly men in the service become profane. I
never before appreciated the oft-quoted phrase, "He swears like a
trooper." Young men whom I have noticed, in times gone by, for their
urbanity and quiet demeanor, now use language unbecoming gentlemen
upon any occasion. But here it is overlooked, because "_everybody does
it_;" but, to my mind,
"'Tis a custom more honored in the breach than the observance."
Gambling, too! O, how they take to it! "O, it's just for pastime,"
says one. Yes; but it is a pastime that will grow and grow, and drag
many a one to ruin. Among the many ways that the boys have of evading
the law against it in camp is, going off into the woods and taking a
"quiet game," as they term it. Chuck-a-luck, sweat-cloth, and every
species of device for swindling are resorted to by the baser sort.