Adventures and Reminiscences of a Volunteer Part 4

"Gone! What do you mean?" And then divining the truth, he exclaimed: "Gor-ram it, did you sell the watch for that pie?"

"Yes, Charley, I did, but I couldn't help it; I knew you wanted the pie so bad."

"Gor-rammed little fool; didn't you know better than that?"

Then I saw the great big tears come into his eyes, and I couldn't stand it. I patted him on the back and said: "Never mind, Charley. I'll go and get the watch back if I have to kill the pie man." So off I started on the dead run, caught the fellow just as he was ready to go. I asked him if I could ride to the rear with him. He answered, "Yes, and you can show me how to get into that turnip watch." So I climbed on to the seat beside him and we started. I took the watch apart, showed him how it was wound, set and regulated it, and was about to hand it back to him, when a sh.e.l.l burst a short way from us, which frightened his horse so that he cramped the wagon and upset it, and in the confusion I got lost with the watch. On the next day I gave it to my brother and told him how I had obtained it. He laughed at me, and said he "guess I'd better keep it myself," and so put it in his pocket. That night the regiment went into action, and my brother was slightly wounded several times. One shot would have proved fatal, but the watch received the bullet and the wound proved fatal only to the watch; it was smashed all to pieces. But my brother prizes the pieces now more than he ever did the whole watch.

The next day my regiment was ordered to the front again. I made up my mind I would not go with them. I concluded I needed rest in order to recuperate, so when the regiment started I bade my brother good-bye, gave him a parting kiss and G.o.d's blessings, so off I started.

About a half a mile from my regiment I came to one of those Virginia fences, got up on top of it, and sat thinking, and while sitting there the sh.e.l.ls began to fly pretty thick. I thought I had better be moving, jumped down, and as I did so a sh.e.l.l struck one of the rails of the fence. A piece of the rail struck me and was harder than I was, for when I came to my senses I found I was in the hospital. I didn't think I was hurt very badly, but when I tried to get up, found I couldn't. From there they moved me to "Balfour Hospital" at Portsmouth, Virginia. I never will forget the shame and mortification I felt at the sight I must have presented when the boat that conveyed us to Portsmouth arrived.

An old negro came to my bunk and took me on his back, and with a boot in each hand dangling over his shoulder he carried me pickaback through the streets to the hospital, a large, fine building, formerly the "Balfour Hotel," and converted into a hospital after Portsmouth was captured. They took me up stairs into what was formerly the dining-room but now filled with over two hundred little iron beds, and each bed occupied by a wounded soldier. Everything in and about the place was as neat as wax. They carried me to a vacant bed near the center of the room, and I noticed the next bed to mine had several tin dishes hanging over it, suspended from the ceiling. These were filled with water, and from a small hole punctured in the bottom the water would slowly but constantly drip upon some poor fellow's wound to keep it moist. I had just sat down on the side of my bed, when I was startled by the sound of a familiar voice. "h.e.l.lo, cully!

What you been doin', playing with one of those d--d sh.e.l.ls, too?"

No, I replied, the sh.e.l.ls were playing with me. Then I recognized the occupant of the next bed as my drummer boy acquaintance who had his hands blown off a week ago. What a strange thing that we should be brought together side by side again, both wounded with a sh.e.l.l and nearly on the same spot.

He had changed wonderfully; his little white pinched face told too plainly the suffering he had endured. I asked him how he was getting along.

"Oh I'm getting along pretty d--d fast. I guess I'll croak in a few days."

"Oh you musn't talk that way, you'll be all right in a little while."

"Oh, no, cully, I know better. I'm a goner; I know it. I don't want to live, anyhow. What in h--l is the good of a man without hands?" Then turning his bandaged head towards me, his eyes filling with tears. "I aint afraid to die, cul., but I would like to see my old mother first. Do you think I will?"

Oh, yes, I said, no doubt of it; at the same time I felt that his days were numbered, but I wanted to make him feel as comfortable as possible.

He was so much worse off than I, that I forgot my own injuries and was eager to a.s.sist him all I could. After a few minutes silence--

"Say, cully, reach under my pillow and find a little book there; it's a little Testament that my dear old mother gave me; read a little for me, will you please? You'll find a place mother marked for me, read that, please."

I turned the leaves over till I found a little white ribbon pinned to a leaf, marking the verse beginning, "Suffer little children to come unto me." I started to read for him, but the tears filled my eyes. I had to stop, and as I did so, I noticed he seemed very quiet. I glanced at him, and the open, staring eyes and the rigid drawn features told me too plainly that the little fellow was out of his sufferings:--he was dead!

"Mother" was the countersign on his lips so thin, And the sentry in heaven _must_ let him in.

I remained here three weeks, finally got up and around and began to think I had enough of soldier life. I had everything I wished for; some ladies in the town--G.o.d bless them, I never will forget them--visited the hospital occasionally, and they always took pains to bring me flowers or goodies of some kind. (Pardon me, but somehow I was always a favorite with ladies.) Well, after remaining there three or four weeks I concluded I didn't want to go to the front, so I sat down and wrote a personal letter to Secretary Stanton, told him who, how, and what I was, and asked him to advise me what to do; if I should go to the front or home. Soon after, a special order came back from him to have me transferred to the "2nd Battalion Veteran Reserve Corps."

Let me here state to those who do not understand; all soldiers who were sick or wounded, unfit for field service were transferred to the Veteran Reserve Corps, for the purpose of doing light guard duty in camp, or at headquarters; they were divided into two battalions, 1st and 2nd. The 1st battalion was supposed to be able to carry a musket for duty, while the 2nd battalion was composed of one-armed men or totally disabled soldiers, and were supplied with a small sword; and thus I was condemned by special order; however I liked it. I had an easy time, nothing to do, and others to help me.

I continued here for about two months, until the hospital was ordered to be removed to Old Point Comfort. I had become a great favorite of Lieutenant Russell, the officer in charge of the hospital, and a nice man he was. When the order came to move, the fixtures, furniture, in fact everything in and about the building was ordered to be sold. I was detailed by Lieutenant Russell to remain behind and superintend the sale of the stuff, keep accounts, make a report when all was sold, and turn over the proceeds. That detained me there two weeks longer. I sold the beds, dishes, tables, everything. There remained about thirty tons of coal in the yard to be disposed of. I sold it in any quant.i.ty to poor people; took any price for it I could get, the same as everything else. Finally, everything was sold off, and I was ready to depart the next day for Old Point Comfort. In the evening, the two men I had with me and myself, used to get our pipes and sit in front of the office and smoke. We were sitting there talking about the sale, when it occurred to me that I had overlooked the "deadhouse." We went back to it and found seven coffins. What was to be done; they must be sold, as they must be accounted for, and we were going to depart early in the morning. The street was crowded at that time in the evening, so I took the coffins and stood them up on the sidewalk, and everyone that pa.s.sed by, I would ask him if he wanted to buy a coffin. Finally, I struck a man who offered me seven dollars for the lot, and I took it quick. I learned afterward he was an undertaker.

The next day I landed and reported to headquarters at Fortress Monroe. A day or two after, Lieutenant Russell sent for me; he wanted a foreman in the Government Printing Office. I was down for occupation on the pay-roll as a printer. He asked me if I understood the business. I said yes, I had some knowledge of it, so I was detailed with an extra eight dollars per month. I took charge of the office at once. The first day I had orders to print fifty thousand official envelopes. The press-boy brought me the proof, I looked it over, and marked it correct; they were printed and sent to headquarters.

A few days after Lieutenant Russell sent for me to report at his office. I didn't know what was up. Thought perhaps I was going to be sent to Was.h.i.+ngton to take charge of the Government Printing Office there. As I went in, the lieutenant turned to me with a quizzical smile on his face:

"Young man, you told me you were a printer?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you 'O. K.' this job?" pa.s.sing one of the envelopes he held in his hand.

"Yes sir," I answered.

"Umph! Is it correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"It is, eh?"

"Yes-s, sir."

"Umph! how do you spell business?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Fortress Monroe where Jefferson Davis was Incarcerated._]

"B-u-i-s-n-e-ss," said I.

"You do, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well," said he in an imperative manner, "our government sees fit to differ with you. You will go to your office and print fifty thousand more, but see that you spell business right, and bring me the proof. The lot you have printed we will send to Was.h.i.+ngton, and recommend that they be made into a paper mache statue of yourself, and label it 'Buisness' or the only government printer."

I was a little chagrined at the mistake, but did not take it to heart; but I was soon relieved by a man who was more careful in his spelling. A week or so after leaving the printing office, I was sent to the fort to act as a kind of a companion to the confederate president, Jefferson Davis. I was instructed to walk and talk with him. I presume I was intended for a sort of guard. Perhaps our government wished to make him feel as if he were not under surveillance, and so placed one whose insignificant appearance would put him at his ease. However, I found it a very agreeable occupation. One of the most pleasant weeks I ever pa.s.sed was with Mr. Jefferson Davis. He was a most agreeable man to me. He gave me lots of good advice, and I learned more from conversation with him about national affairs than I ever expected to know; and if I ever become president I will avail myself of the advice and teaching of that great man. He pointed out the right and wrong paths for young men; urged me above all things to adhere strictly to honesty and integrity; to follow these two principles, and I would succeed in business and become great and respected. I thanked him for his kind advice, and pressed his hand good-bye. "Good-bye, my boy," said he.

"You have been a comfort to me in my loneliness and sorrow. G.o.d bless you, my boy, G.o.d bless you!" A great, big something came up in my throat as I turned and left him, and I have regretted all my life that I was not fortunate enough to have the pleasure of meeting him again before he pa.s.sed away; for I a.s.sure you, indulgent readers and comrades, that no matter what he had done, or what mistakes he had made, his memory will always find a warm spot in the heart of that little Drummer Boy from Maine.

One day, soon after this I sauntered down to the steamboat landing and was leisurly beguiling my time with a very large cigar. I noticed some commotion in the harbor but paid more attention to the cigar than anything else. Finally a large ocean steamer came in sight, rounded up near the wharf and let go her anchor. Very soon a "cutter" was lowered manned with sailors and pulled with steady stroke toward the wharf. While watching and wondering what they were going to do with the soldiers which I saw the vessel was loaded with, the "gig" or "cutter" neared the wharf, then I noticed particularly the young officer who sat in the stern, he was very dictatorial and pompous in his orders to the sailors, so much so that I said to myself, that fellow is putting on lots of airs; he thinks he's some pumpkins, I wish he'd fall overboard.

They finally reached the foot of the stairs, which led to the wharf. The young officer espied me and standing up in the boat shading his eyes with his hand seemed carefully contemplating me. I wondered if it could be possible that he had defined my wish and would have me arrested when he landed; perhaps it was the cigar that attracted his attention. It was against orders to smoke on the wharf, and such a big cigar in a boy's mouth looked very much out of place, but I wasn't going to give it up, and puffed more vigorously than ever. Just then the "cutter" touched the stairs that led up to the wharf with a b.u.mp, and the young officer with his handsome uniform turned a back-summersault overboard. It tickled me to death; I sat down and laughed to see him floundering to reach the stairs.

I clapped my hands and cried, "Good, good!" He finally reached the stairs, clambered up onto them, but they being very slippery from the slime left by the ebbing tide, he lost his footing, his heels went into the air, and down again headfirst he went into the ocean. I think he went clear to the bottom, for when he came up he was covered over with sea gra.s.s and mud. I laughed harder than before; everybody laughed, even the sailors, they couldn't help it, and when they fished him out he was a sight! The starch was out of his clothes, but not his pomposity. He roundly blamed the poor sailors. I sang out: "It wasn't their fault; what are you blaming them for?" He looked at me and shook his fist. "Well, it wasn't!" and I thought to myself if I were they I would push him in again. I then made up my mind I had better run, but I was so convulsed with laughter that I couldn't move. Hurriedly but cautiously climbing the slippery stairs, he made his way straight for me. I was still laughing, so hearty that my eyes were dimmed with tears! but I still puffed away at the big cigar. He looked at me for a moment, then hitting the cigar knocked it overboard, at the same time exclaiming, "You're too young to smoke. What you laughing at? Why don't you salute me? Discipline! I'll teach you discipline, confound you," at the same time boxing my ears. "You 'gorramed' little cuss, why don't you salute me?" At the word "Gorrame" I recovered myself, looked up and recognized my brother; he had been promoted since I saw him, had raised a full beard and was in command of a regiment on his way to New Orleans and had run into Fortress Monroe for orders and hoping to find me.

I was more than pleased to see him, but wouldn't salute him until he had soundly cuffed my ears and threatened to throw me into the water.

When he was ready to depart he gave me a cigar and told me I could smoke it after he had gone, but I didn't; just as he was getting into the "cutter," I gave it to the Boatswain. I don't know, but I believe that cigar was loaded.

Soon after this episode, peace was declared, and the orders came to discharge all soldiers and send them to their respective homes, and on the 30th day of June, 1865, the boy who had worked so hard to get mustered into the service of Uncle Sam was discharged and mustered out. Then I went home to my dear, anxious family. I was not all covered with glory and I did not feel that I had saved my country, but was satisfied that I had not killed anyone; satisfied that I had furnished some little comfort and good cheer to my comrades during their hards.h.i.+ps, and above all that I had learned the glorious distinction of being ent.i.tled to wear one of those little bronze b.u.t.tons made from captured cannons and symbolic of the G. A. R.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fac-simile of a descriptive list belonging to Mr. Ulmer.

The original is six times larger and was plowed up with other doc.u.ments by an old negro on the battle field in front of Petersburg, twelve years after the war. While Mr. Ulmer was playing an engagement at the theatre in Norfolk, the negro presented himself with the doc.u.ment all in pieces. Mr.

Ulmer gave him $100 as a reward, had the pieces put together on parchment and it is now in a good state of preservation. The doc.u.ment is certainly a great relic; some portions of it are almost obliterated by mildew and exposure. The supposition is that the officer who had it in his possession was killed and the papers buried with him.]

Having spoken so often of my brother, some one may ask and wonder what became of him.

During the war our soldiers would often receive little useful articles, such as stockings, s.h.i.+rts, etc., made by the ladies who formed themselves into societies all over the country and furnished these things for distribution among the soldiers at the front. The young ladies had a great craze at that time of marking their names or initials upon whatever they made. One day my brother received a pair of hand-knit stockings with a little tag sewed on each of them, and written on the tags the letters L. A. D., Islesboro, Maine. They were so acceptable at the time that he declared that if he lived to get out of the army, he would be "gorramed"

if he didn't find the girl that built those stockings, and kiss her for them. He began writing to Islesboro, making inquiries, and received several letters signed "Tab." He was determined not to give it up, however, and when mustered out, the first thing he did, was to go to Islesboro, Maine, to find "Tab." He found her, she was a schoolma'm, and soon after married her, and they are now living way out in Port Angeles in the State of Was.h.i.+ngton happy as bugs in a rug, and every meal time you can find several little "Tabs" around the table, some large enough to tell the story of how Pa found Ma, and a great desire to try the same thing themselves.