help me out in this. Yes, I’ll order you out, Pollard. I’ll have the
adjutant issue a special order at once. Perhaps you’d do well to speak
to your company commanders about it now, before they dismiss. We’ll
have the funeral on Sunday afternoon. I shall call on you, Van, for
help in a number of little matters between now and then.”
Pollard left the room, going to pass word to his captains. The colonel
and Van Sickles went to the staff-room, where the adjutant and sergeant
major were wrestling with the never-ending “paper work” of regimental
headquarters.
“Charley,” said the chief, as he came to the adjutant’s desk, “what was
the number of the last regimental special order?”
“I think it was 48, sir,” said the adjutant, dragging the order-book
from its resting place, and rapidly running over its pages. “Yes, 48 it
was.”
“Then I’ll trouble you to make me out 49,” said the colonel. “Have
it run something like this: ‘The 3rd Battalion will report to Major
Pollard, on Sunday next, for the performance of escort duty at the
funeral of Robert Hunnewell Sheldon, late major of this regiment when
in the service of the United States, 1861-65.’”
* * * * *
It was a bright, warm Sunday. Against the cloudless sky the grim
battlements of the armory towered up in bold relief. Upon the tiny
flanking turret which caps one corner of the massive watch-tower,
the half-masted flag hung down in drooping folds of white and red,
unstirred by any passing breeze.
The streets were almost deserted. But within the great armory there
was unwonted life and movement: and when the clocks of the city were
striking the hour of three, the ponderous, iron-bound doors swung
heavily apart, and, company by company, Major Pollard’s battalion of
The Third came marching out, under the frowning archway and down the
wide granite steps.
The major formed his command in line, facing the entrance. A moment
later he brought the battalion to a “present,” faced about, and
saluted, as six sergeants of the regiment came slowly down the steps,
bearing out into the June sunlight a plain, black casket, which they
placed in the waiting hearse.
Then came a handful of men in citizen’s dress, the survivors of the
‘Old Regiment’--grey-haired men, most of them, but all wearing proudly
the bronze star, and the Maltese cross of their long-disbanded army
corps. These were followed by the colonel and nearly all the officers
of the active regiment, in full dress; for the story had spread through
The Third, and--though the chief had expressed no formal wish--it
somehow had become understood that he would be glad to have this mark
of respect shown for the dead officer who had been his friend and
comrade.
The escorting battalion moved to its position, the muffled drums of the
field music began to beat, and the column, leaving the deserted armory
to its Sunday quiet, slowly took up the march towards the elm-shadowed
churchyard where, beside two low, green mounds, an open grave lay
waiting.
The chaplain, book in hand, took his place beside the heap of freshly
turned mould, ready to begin the recital of the solemn service for the
dead. “Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God to take unto Himself
the soul of our brother here departed,” he read, slowly and distinctly,
as the coffin was lowered gently to its resting place; “we therefore
commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to
dust.”
The service ended, and the chaplain softly closed his book. Then came
the commands for the firing, given in a tone strangely unlike that to
which the men were accustomed. Three echoing volleys followed, telling
those who chanced to hear that another soldier of the half-forgotten
war had been laid at rest.
The blue-white smoke from the rifles, silvered here and there by
shafts of sunlight, drifted lazily up through the branches of the
overhanging elms: there was an interval of silence, finally broken
by the mellow notes of a bugle thrilling out the bars of _Taps_, the
soldier’s requiem; and then the escort broke into column and marched
away, leaving the little knot of older men still standing in the shady
churchyard.
* * * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were
not changed.
Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unpaired
quotation marks were retained.
Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.
Redundant chapter titles have been deleted from this eBook.
Page 33: “break-off” probably is a misprint for “breaking off”