IT WAS told in the last chapter how the patriotic impulses of Si Klegg,
of the 200th Ind., reached his stomach and digestive apparatus, and
brought them under obedient subjection to hardtack. He didn't have quite
so rough an experience with that other staple of army diet, which was
in fact the very counterpart of the hardtack, and which took its most
popular name from that part of the body of the female swine which is
usually nearest the ground. Much of Si's muscle and brawn was due to the
fact that meat was always plenty on his father's farm. When Si enlisted
he was not entirely free from anxiety on the question of meat, for to
his appetite it was not even second in importance to bread. If bread
was the "staff of life" meat was life itself to Si. It didn't make
much difference to him what kind it was, only so it was meat. He didn't
suppose Uncle Sam would keep him supplied with quail on toast and
porterhouse steaks all the time, but he did hope he would give him as
much as he wanted of something in that line.
"You won't get much pork, unless you're a good forager," said one
of Si's friends he met at Louisville, and who had been a year in the
service.
Si thought he might, with practice and a little encouragement, be fairly
successful in foraging on his' own hook, but at the same time he said
he wouldn't grumble if he could only get plenty of pork. Fortunately
for him he had not been imbued with the teachings of the Hebraic
dispensation which declared "unclean" the beast that furnished the great
bulk of the animal food for the American defenders of the Union.
Co. Q of the 200th Ind. received with the first issue of army rations
at Louisville a bountiful supply of bacon of prime quality, and Si was
happy at the prospect. He thought it would always be that way.
"I don't see anything the matter with such grub as that!" said Si.
"Looks to me as though we were goin' to live like fighting-cocks."
"You're just a little bit brash," said his veteran friend, who had
just been through the long, hungry march from Huntsville, Ala., to
Louisville. "Better eat all you can lay yer hands on now, while ye've
got a chance. One o' these days ye'll git into a tight place and ye
won't see enough hog's meat in a week to grease a griddle. I've bin
there, myself! Jest look at me and see what short rations 'll bring you
to?"
But Si thought he wouldn't try to cross a bridge till he got to it, nor
lie awake nights worrying over troubles that were yet in the future. Si
had a philosophical streak in his mental make-up and this, by the way,
was a good thing for a soldier to have. "Sufficient unto the day is the
evil thereof," was an excellent rule for him to go by.
So Si assimilated all the pork that fell to his share, with an extra bit
now and then from a comrade whose appetite was less vigorous. He thrived
under its fructifying influence, and gave good promise of military
activity and usefulness. No scientific processes of cookery were
necessary to prepare it for immediate use. A simple boiling or frying or
toasting was all that was required.
[Illustration: THE VETERAN TALKS TO SI 049 ]
During the few days at Louisville fresh beef was issued occasionally. It
is true that the animals slain for the soldiers were not always fat and
tender, nor did each of them have four hind-quarters. This last fact was
the direct cause of a good deal of inflammation in the 200th Ind., as in
every other regiment. The boys who got sections of the forward part of
the "critter," usually about three-quarters bone, invariably kicked, and
fired peppery remarks at those who got the juicy steaks from the
rear portion of the animal. Then when their turn came for a piece of
hind-quarter the other fellows would growl. Four-fifths of the boys
generally had to content themselves with a skinny rib or a soupshank. Si
shared the common lot, and did his full quota of grumbling because his
"turn" for a slice of steak didn't come every time beef was issued.
The pickled pork was comparatively free from this cause of irritation.
It was all alike, and was simply "Hobson's choice." Si remembered the
fragrant and delicious fried ham that so often garnished his mother's
breakfast table and wondered why there was not the same proportion of
hams and sides in the Commissary that he remembered in the meathouse on
the Wabash. He remarked to Shorty one day:
"I wonder where all this pork comes from?"
"It comes from Illinoy, I suppose," said Shorty. "I notice the barrels
are all marked 'Chicago'."
"Must grow funny kind o' hogs out there--a mile long each, I should
say. What do you mean?"
"Why, we've drawn a full mile o' sides from the Commissary, and haint
struck a ham yit. I'm wonderin' jest how long that hog is!"
"Well, you are green. You oughter know by this time that there are only
enough hams for the officers."
Now and then a few pigs' shoulders were handed round among the boys, but
the large proportion of bone they contained was exasperating, and was
the cause of much profanity.
Sometimes bacon was issued that had really outlived its usefulness,
except, perhaps, for the manufacture of soap. Improperly "cured," it was
strong and rancid, or, occasionally, so near a condition of putrefaction
that the stench from it offended the nostrils of the whole camp. Some
times it was full of "skippers," that tunneled their way through and
through it, and grew fat with riotous living.
[Illustration: DRAWING RATIONS 051 ]
Si drew the line at this point. He had an ironplated stomach, but putrid
and maggoty meat was too much for it. Whenever he got any of this he
would trade it off to the darkies for chickens. There is nothing like
pork for a Southern negro. He wants something that will "stick to his
ribs."
By a gradual process of development his appetite reached the point when
he could eat his fat pork perfectly raw. During a brief halt when on the
march he would squat in a fence corner, go down into his haversack for
supplies, cut a slice of bacon, lay it on a hardtack, and munch them
with a keen relish.
[Illustration: "ALL RIGHT, BOSS; DATS A GO" 052 ]
At one of the meetings of the Army of the Cumberland Gen. Garfield told
a story which may appropriately close this chapter.
One day, while the Army of the Cumberland was beleaguered in Chattanooga
and the men were almost starving on quarter rations, Gen. Rosecrans
and his staff rode out to inspect the lines. As the brilliant cavalcade
dashed by a lank, grizzled soldier growled to a comrade:
"It'd be a darned sight better for this army if we had a little more
sowbelly and not quite so many brass buttons!"