HOW THE BLESSED DAY OF REST WAS SPENT IN THE ARMY.
"TOMORROW'S Sunday, ye know," said the Orderly of Company Q one Saturday
night at roll-call.
This was in the nature of news to the boys. But for the announcement
very few of them would have known it. The Orderly was not distinguished
for his piety, and it is not likely that the approach of Sunday would
have occurred to him if the Sergeant-Major had not come around with
orders from the Colonel for a proper observance of the day. The Colonel
himself would not have thought of it either, if the Chaplain had not
reminded him of it. Everybody wondered how even the Chaplain could keep
track of the days well enough to know when Sunday came--but that was
chiefly what he wore shoulder-straps and drew his salary for. It was the
general impression that he either carried an almanac in his pocket, or
else a stick in which he cut a notch every day with his jack-knife, and
in that way managed to know when a new week began.
"There'll be guard-mountin' at 9 o'clock," continued the Orderly,
"regimental inspection at 10, preachin' at 11, an' dress-parade at 5 in
the evenin'. All of ye wants to tumble out right promptly at revellee
an' git yer breakfast, an' then clean up yer guns an' put all yer traps
in apple-pie order, 'cause the Colonel's goin' to look at 'em. He's got
sharp eyes, an' I reck'n he'll be mighty pertickler. If there's anything
that ain't jest right he'll see it quicker'n litenin'. Ye know we hain't
had any inspections yet, an' the Cap'n wants us to be the boss company.
So ye've got to scratch around lively in the mornin'."
"Say," said Corporal Klegg, after the company had broken ranks, "seems
to me there wa'n't no use in the Orderly tellin' us to 'scratch around,'
fer we're doin' that purty much all the time, now that the graybacks is
gittin' in their work on us."
Shorty smiled faintly at what he seemed to consider a rather feeble
joke, even for Si.
The 200th Ind. had now been in the field for many weeks, but it had been
continually cantering about the country, and the Generals had kept it
particularly active on Sundays. Probably this regiment did not manifest
any more than the average degree of enthusiasm and fervor in religious
matters, but there were many in its ranks who, at home, had always sat
under Gospel ministrations, and to tramp on Sundays, the same as other
days, was, at first, a rude shock to their moral sensibilities. These
were yet keen, the edges had not been worn off and blunted and battered
by the hard knocks of army life. True, they could scarcely tell when
Sunday came, but they knew that they kept right along every day.
"Shorty," said Si, after they had curled up under the blanket for the
night, "'pears to me it'll seem sort o' nice to keep Sunday agin. At
the rate we've bin goin' on we'll all be heathens by the time we git
home--if we ever do. Our Chaplain haint had no chance to preachify yet.
The boys of Comp'ny X, w'at knows him, says he's a staver, 'n' I b'lieve
it'll make us all feel better to have him talk to us once. 'Twont do
us no harm, nohow, I'd like to be home to-morrer 'n' go to church with
mother, 'n' sister Marier, 'n'--er--I mean the rest of the folks. Then
I'd jest eat all the afternoon. I ain't goin' ter git homesick, Shorty;
but a feller can't help feelin' a little streaked once 'n' a while.
Mebbe it's a good idee fer 'em to keep us on the jump, fer then we don't
git no chance to think 'bout it. I don't suppose I'm the only boy 'n the
regiment that 'd be glad to git a jest fer to-morrer. I sh'd want ter be
back bright 'n' arly to fall in Monday mornin', fer I'm goin' to stick
to the 200th through thick 'n' thin, if I don't git knocked out. Say,
Shorty, how d'ye feel, any way?"
But Shorty was already fast asleep. Si spooned up to him and was soon,
in his dreams, away up in Posey County.
The sound of the bugle and drum, at daylight, fell upon unwilling ears,
for the soldiers felt the same indisposition to get up early Sunday
morning that is everywhere One of the characteristics of modern
civilization. Their beds were hard, but to their weary limbs no couch of
down ever gave more welcome rest than did the rough ground on which they
lay. But the wild yell of the Orderly, "Turn out for roll-call!" with
the thought of the penalties for non-obedience--which some of them had
abundant reason to remember--quickly brought out the laggards.
Si and Shorty were, as usual, among the first to take their places in
line. They were pleasantly greeted by the Captain, who had come out on
the run at the last moment, and wriggled himself into his coat as he
strode along the company street. The Captain did not very often appear
at morning rollcall. But one officer of the company was required to be
present, and the Captain generally loaded this duty upon the Lieutenants
"turn about." If he did show up, he would go back to bed and snooze for
an hour while the cook was getting breakfast. If one of the men did that
he would soon be promenading with a rail on his shoulder or standing on
a barrel with a stick or a bayonet tied in his mouth.
"I think that's a fust rate notion to mount the guards," said Si to
Shorty as they sat on a rail by the fire making coffee and frying bacon.
"It'll be so much better 'n walkin' back 'n' forrard on the beats.
Wonder 'f they'll give us bosses or mules to ride."
"I'd like to know what put that idee into yer head," said Shorty.
"Whydn't the Ord'ly say last night there 'd be guard-mountin' at 9
o'clock this mornin'? I s'posed that fer a man to be mounted meant
straddlin' a boss or s'mother kind of an animal."
"Ain't ye never goin' to larn nuthin'," said Shorty, with a laugh.
"Guard-mountin' don't mean fer the men to git on hosses. It's only the
name they gives it in the Army Reggelations. Dunno why they calls it
that, 'nless it's 'cause the guards has to 'mount' anybody that tries to
pass 'thout the countersign. But don't ye fool yerself with thinkin'
yer goin' to get to ride. We'll keep pluggin' along afoot, on guard or
anywhere else, same's we have all the time."
Thus rudely was shattered another of Si Klegg's bright illusions.
The whole regiment turned out to witness the ceremony of guard-mounting.
It was the first time the exigencies of the campaign had permitted
the 200th Ind. to do this in regular style. The Adjutant was the most
important personage, and stood so straight that he narrowly escaped
falling over backward. In order to guard against making a mess of it,
he had spent half the night rehearsing the various commands in his tent.
Thus prepared, he managed to get through it in very fair shape.
[Illustration: SO STRAIGHT HE LEANED BACKWABD 211 ]
The next thing on the program for the day was the inspection. The
boys had been industriously engaged in cleaning up their muskets
and accouterments, and putting their scanty wardrobes in presentable
condition. In arranging his knapsack for the Colonel's eye, each man
carefully laid a clean shirt, if he had one, on the top. The garments
that were not clean he either stowed away in the tent or put at the
bottom of the knapsack. In this he was actuated by the same principle
that prompts the thrifty farmer to put the biggest apples and
strawberries at the top of his measure.
The clothing of the regiment was already in an advanced stage of
demoralization. It was of the "shoddy" sort that a good hard wind would
almost blow to pieces.
Corporal Klegg was anxious that not only his person, but all his
belongings, should make as good an appearance as possible. He put on the
best and cleanest garments he had, and then betook himself to fixing his
knapsack so it would pass muster.
"Them duds is a bad lot," he said to Shorty, casting rueful glances
at the little heap of soiled and ragged clothes. "Purty hard to make a
decent show with them things."
"Wait a minute," said Shorty, "an' I'll show ye a little trick."
Taking his poncho under His arm. Shorty went to the rear of the camp,
where the mules were feeding, and presently returned with a bunch of
hay.
"What ye goin' to do with that?" asked Si.
"You jest do 's I tell ye, and don't ask no questions. Cram some o' this
hay into yer knapsack 'n' fill 'er up 'n' then put a shirt or suthin',
the best ye kin find, on top, 'n' the Colonel 'll think she's full o'
clothes right from the laundry. I'm goin' to fix mine that way."
"Shorty, you're a trump!" said Si, approvingly. "That 'll be a bully
scheme."
It required but a few minutes to carry out the plan. The hay was stuffed
into the knapsack, and all vagrant spears were carefully tucked in.
Then a garment, folded so as to conceal its worst features, was nicely
spread over the hay, the flaps were closed and buckled, and the young
Hoosiers were ready for inspection.
"S'posen the Colonel sh'd take a notion to go pokin' down into them
knapsacks," said Si; "don't ye think it'd be purty cold weather for us?"
"P'r'aps it mout," answered Shorty; "but we've got ter take the chances.
He's got seven or eight hundred knapsacks to 'nspect, 'n' I don't
b'lieve he'll stick his nose down into very many on 'em!"
At the appointed time the battalion was formed and the inspection was
gone through with in good style. The Colonel and the field and staff
officers, escorted by the Captain of each successive company, moved
gradually between the ranks, their swords dangling around and getting
mixed up with their legs. The soldiers stood facing inward like so many
wooden men, with their open knapsacks lying upon the ground at their
feet. The Colonel looked sharply right and left, stopped now and then to
commend a soldier whose "straps" were in particularly good condition, or
to "go for" another whose slouchy appearance betokened untidy habits. If
a button was missing, or a shoe untied, his eye was keen to detect it,
and a word of reproof was administered to the delinquent.
As the Colonel started down the line of Company Q Si watched him out of
the corners of his eyes with no little anxiety. His heart thumped as he
saw him occasionally stoop and fumble over the contents of a knapsack,
evidently to test the truth of Longfellow's declaration that "things are
not what they seem." What if the Colonel should go down into the bowels
of Si's knapsack! Si fairly shuddered at the thought.
Si, being the shortest of the Corporals, was at the foot of the company,
while Shorty, on account of his hight, was well up toward the head. Si
almost fainted when he saw the Colonel stop in front of his "pard"
and make an examination of his fatlooking knapsack. Military official
dignity gave way when the removal of the single garment exposed the
stuffing of hay. The officers burst into a laugh at the unexpected
revelation, while the boys on either side almost exploded in their
enjoyment of Shorty's discomfiture.
[Illustration: SI ALMOST PANTED WHEN THE COLONEL STOPPED 215 ]
"Captain," said the Colonel, with as much sternness as he could command,
"as soon as your company is dismissed detail a guard to take charge of
this man. Have him take the hay out of his knapsack and fill it with
stones--and see that it is filled full. Have this man put it on and
march him up and down the company street till church-call, and then take
him to hear the Chaplain. He needs to be preached to. Perhaps, between
the knapsack-drill and the Chaplain, we can straight him out."
Corporal Klegg heard all this, and he wished the ground might open
and swallow him. "These stripes is gone this time, sure!" he said to
himself, as he looked at the chevrons on his arm. "But there's no use
givin' yourself away, Si. Brace up, 'n' mebbe the Colonel 'll skip ye."
Si had been badly shaken up by the Colonel's episode with Shorty, but
by a great effort he gathered himself together and was at his best,
externally, when the Colonel reached him, though his thoughts were in a
raging condition. His face was clean and rosy, and his general make-up
was as good as could be expected under the circumstances.
The Colonel had always remembered Si as the soldier he had promoted
to be a Corporal for his gallantry in the little skirmish a few days
before. As he came up he greeted the Corporal with a smile and a nod of
recognition. He was evidently pleased at his tidy appearance. He cast
a glance at the voluptuous knapsack, and Si's heart seemed to sink away
down into his shoes.
But the fates smiled on Si that day. The Colonel turned to the Captain
and told him that Corporal Klegg was the model soldier of Company Q. Si
was the happiest man in the universe at that precise moment. It was not
on account of the compliment the Colonel had paid him, but because his
knapsack had escaped a critical inspection of its contents.
The inspection over, Company Q marched back to its quarters and was
dismissed. Poor Shorty was soon tramping to and fro, under guard,
humping his back to ease the load that had been put upon it. Si was
very sorry for him, and at the same time felt a glow of pleasure at the
thought that it was not his own knapsack instead of Shorty's that the
Colonel had examined. He could not help feeling, too, that it was a
great joke on Shorty to be caught in his own trap.
[Illustration: SHORTY WAS THERE--WITH A GUARD 217 ]
Shorty took his medicine like a man, marching up and down the row
of tents bravely and patiently, unheeding the gibes and jeers of his
hard-hearted comrades.
The bugle sounded the call for religious services. Shorty was not in a
frame of mind that fitted him for devout worship. In fact, few in the
regiment had greater need of the regenerating influence. He had never
been inside of a church but two or three times in his life, and he
really felt that to be compelled to go and listen to the Chaplain's
sermon was the hardest part of the double punishment the Colonel had
inflicted upon him.
The companies were all marched to a wooded knoll just outside the camp.
Shorty went by himself, save the companionship of the guard, with fixed
bayonet. He had been permitted to leave his knapsack behind. He was
taken to a point near the Chaplain, that he might get the full benefit
of the preacher's words.
Under the spreading trees, whose foliage was brilliant with the hues
of Autumn, in the mellow sunshine of that October day the men seated
themselves upon the ground to hear the Gospel preached. The Chaplain,
in his best uniform, stood and prayed fervently for Divine guidance
and protection and blessing, while the soldiers listened, with heads
reverently bowed. Then he gave out the familiar Methodist hymn,
"Am I a soldier of the cross,"
and all joined in the old tune "Balerma," their voices swelling in
mighty chorus. As they sang,
"Are there no foes for me to face?"
there came to the minds of many a practical application of the words, in
view of the long and fruitless chase after the rebels in which they had
been engaged for nearly a month.
The Chaplain had formerly been an old-fashioned Methodist circuit-rider
in Indiana. He was full of fiery zeal, and portrayed the terrors of
eternal punishment so vividly that His hearers could almost feel the
heat of the flame and smell the fumes of brimstone that are popularly
believed to roll out unceasingly from the mouth of the bottomless pit.
It ought to have had a salutary effect upon Shorty, but it is greatly
to be feared that he steeled his stubborn heart against all that the
Chaplain said.
It was always difficult not to feel that there was something
contradictory and anomalous about religious services in the army.
Grim-visaged, hideous war, and all its attendant circumstances,
seemed so utterly at variance with the principles of the Bible and
the teachings of Him who was meek and lowly, that few soldiers had
philosophy enough to reconcile them.
The soldiers spent the afternoon in reading what few stray books
and fugitive, well-worn newspapers there were in camp, mending their
clothes, sleeping, and some of them, we are pained to add, in playing
eucher, old sledge, and other sinful games. Dress parade closed the
day that had brought welcome rest to the way-worn soldiers of the 200th
Ind..
"Shorty," said Si, after they had gone to bed that night, "I sh'd be
mighty sorry if I'd ha' got up that knapsack trick this mornin', 'cause
you got left on it so bad."
"There's a good many things," replied Shorty, "that's all right when ye
don't git ketched. It worked tip top with you, Si, 'n' I'm glad of it.
But I put ye up to it, 'n' I shouldn't never got over it if the Colonel
had caught ye, on account of them stripes on yer arm. He'd ha' snatched
'em baldheaded, sure's yer born. You're my pard, 'n' I'm jest as proud
of 'em as you be yerself. I'm only a privit,' 'n' they can't rejuce me
any lower! Besides, I 'low it sarved me right 'n' I don't keer fer the
knapsack drill, so I didn't git you into a scrape."