[Illustration: 9124]
HAT time {116}should not hang heavy on their hands, much inventive
genius was brought into play, and no schoolboys, famous for their
ability in making up games, could equal these grown men in originating
sports to fill in the hours that otherwise would have been exceedingly
dull. Some such safety-valve was necessary, or else many would have
broken down with memories of the dear ones at home, and the depressing
sights of war, and its hardships.
The camp echoed often with the songs so dear to all who can be moved by
tender thoughts. Many of the men were the possessors of rich, melodious
voices, that brought many a thrill of delight to their listeners, in
their tones.
Ralph had a fine voice, and to please his comrades he often sang the
sweet old songs of childhood, while they listened with an enthusiasm
and rounds of applause that many a prima donna could not have inspired.
Throwing themselves around the blazing camp fire whose ruddy sparks flew
heavenward, the whole company would join him in singing the melodies
with hearty goodwill, and at those moments care and danger were
forgotten. Now he would give them a plaintive, gentle ditty that would
make the eyes of those brown-faced soldiers moist with emotion, as home
pictures started into life before them, and then a stirring song of
patriotism and victory would ring out, until the blood would leap
in their veins, and each man there was ready to attack any foe
single-handed.
But the boy's heart was heavy, even while his humble efforts in the
musical line were giving pleasure to his comrades. His constant prayer
was that some decisive move might be made, by which the war might be
brought to a speedy close. He {117}was lonely, too, for “Old Bill,” as
he always called himself, had been in the hospital for some time, and he
missed his cheery ways.
[Illustration: 0125]
One afternoon as he sat in his tent reading, he heard peals of
boisterous laughter ringing out upon the air. Going to the opening,
he saw a group of soldiers gathered round some object, and heard them
chaffing some one whom he could not see.
“What is the excitement, Harry?” he asked a companion who had evidently
come from the scene of action.
“I just came for you to pile out and see the fun. They've got {118}one
of our boys, and are amusing themselves at his expense. Come on, or
you'll be too late. The performance will be over.” Ralph hurried after
Harry, who was off like a deer, and going straight up to the group, he
saw a crowd of men tossing another one up in the air, and letting him
fall into a blanket, amid screams of laughter, and cries of “Send him up
higher!”
“Pickle him in his own salt!”
“Head him up in a barrel, and send him to the cook!”
“We'll make a high private in the rear rank of him!”
“Gently, boys,” the victim panted. “You don't want to be too hard on a
poor fellow for having a little joke of his own.”
“Who is it--what has he done?” inquired Ralph, who didn't enjoy such
rough sport, and was really concerned lest they might carry it so far as
to injure the man.
“It's Corporal Fred Greene, the funny fellow of Co. H,”
Tim Mackey responded. “It's his birthday, and we re celebrating it. And
he's having a high time.”
Fred was a mischievous young fellow, who had just seen his twenty-third
birthday. If there was any chance for a joke on any member of the
company, he never lost the opportunity of making the most he could out
of it.
In order to impress the fact that he had a birthday, he had invited a
score of his comrades to a “small spread” in his tent. The colored cook
was in the secret, and through his connivance, and the help of a few
cracker boxes draped with bunting, and some tin cans, he had succeeded
in making quite a tasty looking table. Before the banquet began, he
made a short speech of welcome, which was responded to in good faith by
Franklin Field, who was deputed to do the speaking on all occasions, as
he had quite a gift of extempore oratory.
Without further ceremony, Fred cordially pressed all of them to “fall
to.” Just at this interesting moment, the cook, a loose-jointed,
wrinkled old darkey, whose huge mouth looked as if it was always ready
to utter a guffaw, entered the tent, and scraping and bowing to the
“gemmens,” broke out with--“Sorry to put back your 'joyment, Massa Fred,
but youse wanted outside, bad.”
Fred {119}rose, and with a graceful salute to his guests, begged them,
in a most elaborate manner, to attack the food, which was entirely at
their service. It was unfortunate that he should be disturbed at such
a moment, but duty called him, and he would return at the earliest
opportunity.
“This black rascal is bound I shan't have my share, but fall to,
friends.” Once outside, he hunted a safe hiding place waited behind a
hedge.
[Illustration: 0127]
Those left behind sat a moment lost in wonder as to where the good
things sprang from. They did look inviting to these devourers of hard
tack and bacon. The table had for a centerpiece a fine-looking chicken,
flanked on both wings by oranges, potatoes roasted in the ashes, canned
fruit, and--two huge cakes!
“Where did Fred get these dainties? He's too lazy to forage, and I don't
believe he could buy them at the sutler's tent. His {120}credit, ain't
good enough,” was the comment made by one of his “friends.”
“Never mind where he got 'em,” a gaunt, hungry-looking fellow answered.
“Let's try 'em fust, and investigate afterwards.” No further urging was
necessary. They all “fell to,” as they had been ordered, but the wry
faces, choking, gasping breath, and muttered expletives, as one after
another bit into some tempting morsel to find a mouth filled with salt,
pepper or sand, would have been a subject for a painter. The chicken was
a sham; its unusual plumpness was due to a liberal stuffing of cotton
batting, the oranges were well sanded, while the cake was plentifully
seasoned with salt and pepper--two condiments that are very well in
proper proportions, but rather nauseating when taken in large doses.
They rose in a body--all were of one mind when they rushed out after
their host, who was making for the woods at the other end of camp.
A dozen fleet-footed men soon overtook him, and, bringing him back,
proceeded to inflict summary punishment, amid roars of laughter, for he
was liked by every man of the company.
Fred didn't play any more jokes upon those boys, and after his undesired
elevation, he was quite subdued. But they all forgave him, and “Fred's
birthday party” passed into a byword, when some illustration was needed
to indicate a good time.
Ralph was homesick. It was useless to disguise the fact, for it began to
tell upon his health. Malaria had fastened its strong hand upon him,
and he grew more listless every day. He did not waver in his duties,
however, and when marching orders came, he was among the first to pack
his knapsack and shoulder his musket.
{121}
[Illustration: 0129]