SOLDIER MINSTRELS.
You may see at certain points on Broadway, maimed and battered
veterans, sitting through the whole day grinding a hand-organ for a
living. These men have heard sterner music than that by which they earn
their scanty subsistence, and have participated in a nobler struggle
for life.
THE STORY OF A PATRIOT.
In the spring of 1861, there went through the States of the Union a cry
that had never been heard in them before. It was the thrilling appeal
of the Union for aid against its foes. How it was answered, how
thousands of warriors started forth at the call, all men know.
Among those who responded to this call, was a young man just entering
upon the great drama of life. He had worked hard during his boyhood,
and was at this time one of the most promising and skilful mechanics in
one of our eastern cities. It was a great sacrifice for him to abandon
all the bright prospects before him; but the love of country was warm
in his breast, and he made the sacrifice cheerfully.
John Williams saw his first active service in the numerous outpost and
picket encounters, which marked the autumn and winter of 1861, while
the army under General McClellan was organizing on the banks of the
Potomac. There he distinguished himself by his firmness and vigilance,
as well as by his unfaltering courage.
[Illustration: The Soldier Minstrel.]
When the campaign of the Peninsula began, he was with the advance of
the army, and participated in the great reconnoisance of the 5th and
6th of April, 1862. At Williamsburg he was wounded in the arm, and did
not return to the army until the great battles of 'the seven days' had
commenced. He bore himself bravely through the whole of this trying
time, and came out of the fights unhurt.
During the retreat through White Oak Swamp, it was necessary to destroy
a small foot-bridge over a little watercourse. The enemy were pressing
on behind, and the task of demolishing the bridge was one of great
danger. General Sumner, seeing the condition of affairs, called for one
volunteer to cut away the log that still supported the structure. John
Williams sprang forward, and, seizing the axe which was held out to
him, dashed towards the bridge. In another instant his heavy blows were
falling on the log, sending its chips right and left. He had scarcely
begun when the enemy's skirmishers appeared on the other side of the
stream. Seeing him thus engaged, they opened a rapid fire upon him. The
balls flew all around him, two went through his hat, and his comrades
looked every moment for his death. But he did not shrink from his post.
He only brought the axe down heavier and faster upon the log. A minute
of painful suspense to his friends went by, and then the bridge fell,
with a crash, into the stream. Waving his cap triumphantly, the brave
fellow rejoined his company. For this gallant deed Private Williams
was, at General Sumner's special request, made a corporal.
From Harrison's Landing he went with the army to the Potomac again, and
followed McClellan to South Mountain and Antietam. Here his conduct
again drew upon him the notice of his officers; and when the army lay
at Harper's Ferry, preparatory to its advance into Virginia, he
received his sergeant's warrant, and a flattering note from General
Sumner, who, although wounded himself, had not forgotten him.
He was at Fredericksburg, and there lost his left arm. It was a severe
trial to him, for in the trade to which he had been trained, and to
which he hoped to return at the close of the war, both arms were
necessary. Nevertheless, he bore up against everything, and submitted
to his long and painful suffering as only a brave man can. When the
wound was healed, he went back to his command. He had no idea of
claiming his discharge for the loss of only one arm. He said,
cheerfully, he would only leave the service when the other arm, or a
leg, went from him.
He was well enough to participate in the battle of Chancellorsville,
but not sufficiently restored to health to meet the fate which there
befell him, for, toward the close of the second day's engagement, he
was taken prisoner. A few days later he was marched to Richmond, and
there became an inmate of the famous 'Libby prison.' A dreary attack of
sickness followed his arrival there, and lasted several months.
Hospital life, even among one's own friends, is not pleasant. To a
prisoner, among his enemies, even though they be kind and humane, it is
horrible. He is constantly haunted by the fear that he will die there,
and that his fate will never be known to his friends at home. So, in
spite of the bravery of Sergeant Williams, this feeling constantly
preyed upon him and retarded his recovery.
The weeks and months went by slowly, and at last the long imprisonment
came to an end. The sick man was sent back to the North, among a number
of others, who were exchanged under a special arrangement. A furlough
was granted him to go home and recruit his health. He was so weak and
thin when he went back to his old home, that his friends scarcely knew
him. But his native air, and the cheerful home scenes, soon brought him
up again, and when he returned to his regiment, he was as well and as
hearty as ever. He reached the army just after Grant had taken command
of it, and was reorganizing it for the last grand campaign against
Richmond.
He began the march with a light heart and happy anticipations. They
were cut short at Cold Harbor, where he lost his right leg. His days of
service were now over, and he went into the hospital to await his
recovery, when he would have to go back to the world unfitted for
almost any avocation. Still he consoled himself with the hope that the
people for whom he had fought and suffered, would not let him lack for
some means of employment.
When he was able to leave the hospital, the war had been decided, and
the great struggle was over. He received his honorable discharge from
the government, and transportation to the city where he had enlisted.
After a brief rest, he set about looking for employment.
It was a harder task than he had anticipated. No one had anything for
him to do, 'Times were so dull,' 'there was so little to do,' that no
one could think of employing him. In vain he urged his services to the
country and for them. They were very sorry for him. They would help him
if they could; but really it was impossible.
Every day his small stock of money grew smaller, and with it his hopes
grew fainter. At last he disappeared from the notice of his friends, to
re-appear again in a short time under different circumstances.
One day his friends were attracted by the sight of a crowd collected
around a cracked and ricketty hand-organ. Approaching it they found
that the organ-grinder was no less a person than Sergeant Williams. He
was clad in his suit of faded blue, with his sergeant's chevrons and
all. He was grinding away at his old hand-organ as the last means left
him for support. Every day he may be seen along the principal streets
of the city, patiently and sadly earning his pittance in this way--a
mode so very repugnant to one's manhood.
This is the end and reward of his services and sufferings. In a land so
prosperous, so favored as our own, a soldier of the Union, in his garb
of honor, who has given for his country everything but his life, is
forced to resort to an avocation formerly considered only fit for
vagrants. It is no discredit to him, for he bears himself there as
proudly as he did when following the old flag; but there is a bitter,
burning sense of wrong in his heart. Perhaps you may know, dear reader,
who is responsible for it.