A Boy Trooper With Sheridan. Allen Stanton P.

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СКАЧАТЬ left his bundle and went in search of Hom who was found near the cook-house. His pack had broken loose, and he was too much disgusted to go any further. Taylor assisted him, and they reached the bunk about the time Waterman arrived. We held a council of war, and decided to defer action on the horse furniture till the next day.

      “We’ll tog ourselves out in these soldier-clothes and let the harness alone till we’re ordered to tackle it,” said Taylor, and we all assented.

      “Attention!”

      The orderly sergeant again appeared.

      “The recruits who have just drawn their uniforms will fall in outside for inspection with their uniforms on in ten minutes!”

      There was no time for ceremony. Off went our home clothes and we donned the regulation uniforms. Four sorrier-looking boys in blue could not have been found in Camp Meigs. And we were blue in more senses than one. My forage cap set down over my head and rested on my ears. The collar to my jacket came up to the cap, and I only had a “peek hole” in front. The sleeves of the jacket were too long by nearly a foot, and the legs of the pantaloons were ditto. The Government did not furnish suspenders, and as I had none I used some of the saddle straps to hold my clothes on. Taylor could not get his boots on, and Hom discovered that both of his boots were lefts. He got them on, however. When Waterman put on his overcoat it covered him from head to foot, the skirts dragging the floor. Before we had got on half our things the order came to “fall in outside,” and out we went. Taylor had his Government boots in his hands, as a corporal had informed him that if he turned out with citizen’s boots on after having received his uniform he would be tied up by the thumbs. So he turned out in his stocking feet.

      We were “right dressed” and “fronted” by the first sergeant, who reported to the captain that the squad was formed. The captain advanced and began with Taylor, who was the tallest of the squad, and therefore stood on the right.

      “Where are your boots?”

      “Here,” replied the frightened recruit, holding them out from under the cape of his great coat.

      “Fall out and put them on.”

      “I can’t.”

      “Why not?”

      “I wear nines and these are sevens.”

      “Corporal, take this man to the quartermaster’s and have the boots changed.”

      Taylor trotted off, pleased to get away from the officer, who next turned his attention to Hom.

      “What’s the matter with your right foot; are you left-handed in it?”

      “No, sir; they gave me both lefts.”

      “Sergeant, send this man to the quartermaster’s and have the mistake rectified.”

      Waterman was next in line.

      “Who’s inside this overcoat?” demanded the captain. “It’s me, sir – private Waterman.”

      “Couldn’t you get a smaller overcoat?”

      “They said it would fit me, and I had no time to try it on.”

      “Sergeant, have that man’s coat changed at once. Fall out, private Waterman.”

      Then came my turn. The captain looked me over. My make-up was too much for his risibility.

      “Where did you come from?” he asked, after the first explosion.

      “Berlin.”

      “Where’s that?”

      “York State.”

      “Well, you go with the sergeant to the quartermaster and see if you can’t find a rig that will come nearer fitting you than this outfit.”

      I was glad to obey orders, and after the captain’s compliments had been presented to the quartermaster, directions were given to supply me with a uniform that would fit. Although the order could not be literally complied with, I profited by the exchange, and the second outfit was made to do after it had been altered somewhat by a tailor, and the sleeves of the jacket and the legs of the trousers had been shortened.

      The captain did not “jump on us” as we had expected. ‘The self-styled old soldiers had warned us that we would be sent to the guard house. The captain had seen service at the front, and had been through the mill as a recruit when the First Battalion was organized. He knew that it was not the fault of the privates that their clothes did not fit them. This fact seemed to escape the attention of many commissioned officers, and not a few recruits were censured in the presence of their comrades by thoughtless captains, because the boys had not been built to fill out jackets and trousers that had been made by basting together pieces of cloth cut on the bias and every other style, but without any regard to shapes, sizes or patterns.

      CHAPTER III

      The Buglers’ Drill – Getting Used to the Calls – No Ear for Music – A Visitor from Home – A Basket full of Goodies – Taking Tintypes – A Special Artist at the Battle of Bull Run – Horses for the Troopers – Reviewed by a War Governor – Leaving Camp Meigs – A Mother’s Prayers – The Emancipation Proclamation – The War Governors’ Address.

      SHOULD there be living to-day a survivor of Sheridan’s Cavalry Corps of the Army of the Potomac who can, without shuddering, recall the buglers’ drill, his probationary period on earth must be rapidly drawing to a close. I do not mean the regular bugle calls of camp or those sounded on company or battalion parade. I refer to the babel of bugle blasts kept up by the recruit “musicians” from the sounding of the first call for reveille till taps. A majority of the boys enlisted as buglers could not at first make a noise – not even a little toot – on their instruments, but when, under the instruction of a veteran bugler, they had mastered the art of filling their horns and producing sound they made up for lost time with a vengeance. And what a chorus! Reveille, stable call, breakfast call, sick call, drill call retreat, tattoo, taps – all the calls, or what the little fellows could do at them, were sounded at one time with agonizing effect.

      The first sergeant of Company I said to me one day while we were in Camp Meigs:

      “The adjutant wants more buglers, and he spoke of you as being one of the light weights suitable for the job. You may go and report to the adjutant.”

      “I didn’t enlist to be a bugler; I’m a full-fledged soldier.”

      “But you’re young enough to bugle.”

      “I’m twenty-one on the muster-roll. I want to serve in the ranks.”

      “Can’t help it; you’ll have to try your hand.”

      I reported to the adjutant as directed, and was sent with a half-dozen other recruits to be tested by the chief trumpeter. After a trial of ten minutes the instructor discovered that there was no promise of my development into a bugler, and he said with considerable emphasis:

      “You go back mit you to de adjutant and tell him dot you no got one ear for de music.”

      I was glad to report back to the company, for I preferred to serve as a private.

      The recruits soon became familiar with the sound СКАЧАТЬ