342 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[May 29, 1884 



A STORY FOR DECORATION DAY. 



IT was midwiuter in war times; the scenery mountainous- 

 the weather cold, dark and cloudy; time, about 6 P. M. 

 The battle had been fought and victory perched on our ban- 

 ners; roll call was over, and the weary troops had gathered 

 around newly-made camp-tires to prepare their scanty "suppers 

 of coffee and hard biscuit. The camp kettles, suspended on 

 rails resting on forked sticks, were beginning to steam. The 

 dark clouds that had gathered over the battlefield, heavily 

 charged with chilling rain, became threatening and might at 

 any moment pour down their unwelcome floods on the 

 unsheltered heads of the devoted men who were scattered 

 around and trying to draw some comfort from the cheerful 

 blaze and the prospect of a cupful of hot, strong coffee. 

 Some of them had taken off their shoes and were "rubbing 

 their sore feet; others were sitting on rocks and rails talking 

 in low, broken murmurs, as they recalled the conflict and 

 spoke the name of some fallen comrade who had dropped by 

 their side; others lay prone on their backs, silent, their right 

 arms drawn across their eyes, their minds, no doubt, wander- 

 ing back to their peaceful homes on the broad prairies or 

 sheltered woodlands of the Northwest. A little in the fore- 

 ground stood long lines of stacked rifles, along the further 

 side of which paced the sentinel, weary but watchful, guard- 

 ing those trusty weapons that had done such good services 

 during the day. Still further in front was a different, but 

 more sad spectacle; long ranks of dead soldiers lay side by 

 side, wrapped in their blankets, ready to he laid in the 

 shallow trench then being prepared for their reception. Still 

 further to the right appeared the flickering lights at the field 

 hospital, where the faithful surgeons were doing all, by their 

 skill and goodness of heart, to allay the sufferings of the 

 wounded. Such were the scenes that passed in quick review 

 before the eyes of the writer as he sauntered around to see 

 how the boys felt after their hard fight, and to make inquiries 

 regarding the fate of true and trusted comrades. 



But the kettles begin to bubble and boil, while a pleasant 

 aroma floats around the camp-fire, arousing the boys, who 

 bestir themselves, and hunt for haversacks and tin cups pre- 

 paratory to dipping in and soaking their hard biscuit. All 

 is now animation; jokes and banters pass around, gloom is 

 dispersed, and cheerfulness asserts her ever potent power for 



But I must return to duty, and find Black Tom, who is 

 neighing for me at a short distance. On my way I pass regi- 

 mental headquarters, established around a large brush heap, 

 then burned down to a bed of burning, glowing coals. No 

 tents, no camp stools, nothing but an orderly holding some 

 horses by the bridles, and the mess cook and major trying 

 their best to make some coffee without scorching their faces. 

 The colonel is sitting at the foot of a tree, the other officers, 

 among whom there are several captains, are scattered around, 

 some sitting on the grotmd, others lying flat, all holding an 

 animated discussion regarding the fight, the sulphurous 

 smoke of which yet adulterated the air. Leaning against a 

 tree, I stood a silent spectator of the picturesque scene. One 

 of the group, a tall, handsome officer, wearing a captain's 

 uniform, remarked, rather emphaticly, "I don't understand 

 why the General does not follow up the advantage and cap- 

 ture the last d— d man of them." The words had scarcely 

 passed his lips when an orderly rode up, jumped from the 

 saddle, ran his eyes around the group, advanced to the 

 colonel, saluted, pulled from his belt a bunch of orders, 

 handing one over, turned on his heel, mounted, and was off. 

 That officer read the order, jumped to his feet, remarking, 

 "The fight is not. over yet, your wish is gratified." The 

 order, in brief, was a call for four companies under a field 

 officer, provided with three days' rations, eighty rounds of 

 ammunition, in light marching order, nothing to be carried 

 but pouches. The battalion to march at once to the rendez- 

 vous, where the ammunition and cracker wagons awaited 

 them. 



This meant fight, and all was bustle in a moment; "get 

 ready," ran down along the camp-fires. The men gulped 

 down their scalding coffee, hardly taking time to wet the 

 flinty bread. No detail was made, but volunteer com- 

 panies called for. The order to fall in was promptly obeyed, 

 and the officers in charge put the question, "All you that are 

 in favor of a three days' force march on hard tack, and 

 plenty of fighting, will hold up your right hands." Every 

 hand was up in a moment; and the captain without as much 

 as "rest" or "break ranks," turned on his heel and reported 

 his company ready. This was all done in far less time than 

 it takes 10 write it, and the first four companies reported 

 were accepted, while the others, eveiy one of whom had 

 promptly responded, were chagrined and disappointed at 

 being left. These brave fellows, footsore and battle-weary, 

 were ready to start off on a three days' forced march, loaded 

 down with dry bread and double allowances of cartridges, 

 in the dead of winter without a blanket or overcoat, with 

 every indication of fallen weather, to fight against heavy 

 odds with a fair prospect that it was the last march they 

 would ever make, for they knew not what they were to be 

 dashed against, Yet these self-sacrificing heroes, all actuated 

 by the same spirit of tenacious bravery, self-sacrifice and 

 lofty patriotism, were striving for places in that forlorn 

 hope, cheerfully offering their lives as a willing sacrifice in 

 the protection and upholding of our dear flag and country. 

 Of such was the material composing our volunteer army. 

 May every American boy, be his home in the North or South, 

 East or West, be inspired by the same noble principles. But 

 I am digressing. 



Catching the spirit of reckless adventure that took posses- 

 sion of all, and although my duties led me in a different and 

 safer quarter, yet I hurried to headquarters and offered my 

 services as commissary and quartermaster of the expedition. 

 The General looked at me incredulous; his eyes seemed to 

 read my very soul; he answered, "No train accompanies 

 them," but after a little reflection he continued, "however, 

 you may go, although tbey will have no use for your ser- 

 vices," and pencilled a brief order to that effect. Grasping 

 the order I hurried to my horse, sending an orderly to the 

 train informing my assistant of my detail for three days, 

 then turned Tom's head toward the rendezvous. 



A few days previous the cavalry had brought in a com- 

 pany of mountaineers as prisoners. They were brought 

 past the train to be disarmed. These men carried long, 

 ancient rifles of the old frontier pattern. The officer cap- 

 tured with them was a young, handsome, dashing fellow, 

 dressed in a suit of home-made gray jeans, no doubt the 

 handiwork of his mother or sister or wife. It was cut in 

 the Confederate regulation style, with three gold bars on the 

 collar; it fit to perfection, and he looked every inch a gen- 



tleman and soldier. His arms consisted of a rifle, supported 

 across his bark by the sling, and a deer-skin pouch well 

 filled with cartridges. I was standing a short distance from 

 him, and noticed him beckoning me to approach. "When 

 close up he said, "lam in for the bull pen" (meaning the 

 military prison); "this is my private property" (disengaging 

 his rifle); "1 make you a present of it. It is the hest piece 

 you ever handled; take care of it." The command, "Right 

 face, forward march," was given, and he disappeared.' I 

 examined the piece minutely. It had a 30-inch barrel, about 

 .35-caliber. weighed 71 pounds, silver-mounted; in fact one 

 of the neatest rifles I ever handled, and after trial proved to 

 be the finest rifle I ever shot. The pouch contained a quan- 

 tity of hand-made cartridges, with extra large charges of 

 powder, no doubt intended to kill Yanks, but afterward 

 used for the better purpose of saving them. This rifle and 

 pouch were strapped to my saddle when I mounted to join 

 the rendezvous. 



Beaching the place I found four battalions of infantry, and 

 two small mountain howitzers, and two ambulances. The 

 fighting force was about one thousand strong, quite a small 

 detail to tackle a whole division of the enemy that had been 

 cut off and were then in full run for the river, some eighteen 

 miles distant. The men having filled their haversacks with 

 crackers, and their boxes and pockets with cartridges, the 

 line was formed and we started south at a swinging gait. 

 The colonel in command, with whom I was riding, enlight- 

 eued me as to our destination. We were to make straight 

 for the ferry or ford, and if in time, to dispute the passage, 

 and to hold the same until reinforced; but if too late, then we 

 were to push down the left bank and prevent a recrossing, 

 and harass the retreat as much as possibe. In passing along 

 the line to the front, one of the officers jokingly asked me, 

 "What are you going to do with your popgun?" I answered, 

 "Keep the boys in meat." The men caught my answer and 

 hoarded it up for future use, and paid me back in double 

 measure. 



The march was silent, rapid and unbroken. Sunrise 

 found us at the river, the last of the "Johnnies" disappear- 

 ing on the opposite side, and the ferryboat, a trap run by 

 horse power, putting down stream at her top speed. A few 

 shells were sent after the broken and retreating foe, there 

 was a brief rest, and then the head of the line was turned 

 down stream. By this time the long threatened rain had 

 broken loose, and poured down in torrents; but there was no 

 rest nor shelter for us. On we went the whole day. A 

 little before dark, on turning an abrupt bend in the river, 

 camp-fires were seen on the other side, and the ferryboat 

 tied to the bank. To place the guns in position and throw 

 a dozen shells into the midst of them was the work of a few 

 minutes. They thought the whole Yankee army was on 

 them, and off they went, wagons, boat and all, soon disap- 

 pearing beyond the woods. With brief intervals of rest, the 

 chase was kept up for three days and nights, several times 

 frustrating the enemy's attempt to recross and join the main 

 column then on the retreat further north. 



On the second day out, I was riding along the line, when 

 the boys noticed me and called out, "Hallo, Crackers, where 

 is our meat?" the chorus being taken up by all, and "bring 

 on your meat, " met me on every side. 



When starting I had been told, and had expected that my 

 position of commissary and quartermaster would be a sine- 

 cure, but alas, here I was face to face with more than a thous- 

 and hungry mouths to fill, and scores of miles from our base 

 of supplies, and still marching further. What was I to do? 

 I felt for the boys, and their repeated calls of "bring on 

 your meat," were prompted by a deep-seated feeling of ne- 

 cessity. I went to the colonel and told him that I would 

 ride ahead and see if I could find some stray cattle or hogs if he 

 would let the men dress and cook them, to which he readily 

 assented. I started at once, and scoured the country for 

 miles on the left of the column, hoping at every turn to find 

 a sturdy cow or hog, but to no purpose, the country had 

 been closely foraged before us; and night found me spurring 

 on after the men empty-handed. I was ashamed and almost 

 afraid to see them, but face the music I must. The first 

 question was, "Well, Crackers, what luck?" None. Trouble 

 was afloat in a moment, and "bring on your meat" met me 

 at every turn. 



Next morning before day found me miles from the line of 

 march, determined to hunt something for my hungry com- 

 rades. And a more faithful searching hunt a man nefer 

 made. Up the hills and down the valleys I went, perhaps 

 1 could get a deer, a pig, anything. I would have been 

 tempted, to have killed a mule had I found one. But no, 

 the country was silent, and barren of hair and feather worth 

 carrying to camp, and must have been scoured by hungry 

 men before me. The middle of the afternoon found me 

 again with the command. I was met on every turn by the 

 hungry cry, "Bring on your meat." I was desperate; yet 

 had I not voluntarily assumed the responsible position, and 

 to whom else could the men look for meat? 



When I reported my failure to the commanding officer, he 

 looked daggers at me, pulled out his watch, looked at the 

 time of day; two hours to sundown, the last cracker gone, 

 in a section very sparsely settled, the men almost broken 

 down, and hungry, their feet wet and blistered. The rain 

 which had poured down on us during the past two days had 

 spent itself, and the sky was bright for the first time. A 

 halt was called, and a council held. All had been animated 

 by the hope of catching up with the fugitives,' and giving 

 them battle, and there had been glimpses of them at inter- 

 vals during the day, pushing down the other side of the 

 stream, and trying to effect a crossing. But now a new 

 enemy met us, hunger. What was to be done? To retrace 

 our steps was starvation, to proceed further would be diso- 

 beving orders, or at least, stretching them beyond excuse. 

 It was finally decided to change our course, and march north 

 in the hope of striking a settlement that had not been closely 

 foraged. 1 was therefore ordered to take the first left hand 

 road and find a suitable bivouac for the night. Spurring on, 

 I found a cross road within a short distance of where we 

 stopped, and 1 called their attention to it. All was soon in 

 motion, and I went cantering along to perform the duty as- 

 signed me. Mile after mile I rode, but no break in the pine 

 forest. I found a deserted cabin with a small clearing, but 

 no water, that would not do; so on 1 went a mile or two 

 further. I began to despair of relief for the troops, and de- 

 termined to select the first spot that afforded wood and water 

 and trust to the morrow for provisions. 



Night was coming on, still there was no break in the forest. 

 I felt sad and sick at heart thinking of the hungry, footsore 

 boys behind me, who were looking ahead at every turn in 

 the road for me and relief. I slackened my pace and per- 

 mitted my poor, faithful horse to w r alk up a sharp incline in 

 the road. My rifle was lying in front across my saddle, the 

 reins loose on Tom's neck, My thoughts took flight and 



were away off in my own home. There I met my wife and 

 baby, Mary; tears, hot, scalding tears, ran down my cheeks, 

 my heart was full, for the moment I had forgot my duty, and 

 was slowly repeating the following stanza: 



''Methought from thebattlefield's stern array 



That I -wandered far on a desolate tract: 

 It was evening, and sunshine arose on the way 

 To the home of my loved ones, who welcomed me back." 



I had repeated half of the next, when my horse came to a 

 sudden stand. I looked up, brushed the tears from my eyes 

 and looked around. I was on the brow of the ridge, and 

 right in front of me, in the valley beneath, lay a. beautiful 

 farm. Half a mile distant were the farmhouse, barns, and 

 orchard. The smoke rose from the chimneys and eddied 

 away in the evening breeze. The tingling of a cow bell 

 came floating up the hill, and a lot of cattle stood in the 

 road in front of the homestead. Stacks of fodder stood by 

 the barn, and turkeys were flying up to roost. In a field 

 back of the house, that stretched within two bundled yards 

 of where I sat, there was a small flock of sheep grazing in 

 apparent security. There was plenty, if not peace, within 

 my grasp. How long I sat gazing" at the peaceful scene 

 before me I know not, but the clear neigh of a horse away 

 at the foot of the hill behind, told me that the column was 

 near. 



In a moment my course was mapped out, I would tie 

 my horse, creep to the fence, shoot down that flock of sheep, 

 and buy them afterward. When I reached the fence I was 

 within from sixty to one hundred yards of the flock, sixteen 

 in number and large ones. I steadied my nerves for the 

 work, determined that every shot should count. Dropping 

 down in the fence corner out of sight, I loaded and fired in 

 quick succession. One after the other of those innocent crea- 

 tures dropped to my shots. I seemed to be inspired; not a. 

 bullet missed its mark, and just as the last one fell the head 

 of the column appeared on the top of the ridge on my right, 

 and an angry farmer came running across the field on my 

 left. When the pleasant view burst on the eyes of the 

 weary, hungry soldiers, they broke out in loud cheers, which 

 drew' the attention of the farmer, w T ho took in the situation 

 at a glance. He stopped short, looked first at the troops, 

 then at his bleeding flock. I went up and tried to explain 

 matters, but after listening a while he turned on his heel 

 and started off without a word. When distant about twenty 

 steps he turned and said, "Stranger, come down to the 

 house, will you?" and left. 



After seeing big roaring tires of dry rails ablaze, and the 

 sheep stripped of their pelts, which was a wonderfully short 

 job, I went to the house, and was kindly received by the 

 host. All were in a state of abjeet fear lest the men would 

 come down and do all kinds of bad things, as they had been 

 told would happen when the hireling Yankees would come, 

 but seeing that I was a human being, and rather a kind one 

 at that, the children came up to me, and when I told them 

 of my own little darling at home, they became reassured, 

 and when I asked for a piece of bread, for I was hungry, 

 that true spirit of American hospitality came to the front, 

 and the oldest daughter, who had been very shy, brought me 

 some sweet milk and light bread, which proved a treat. 

 After assuringthem that we were friends, that nothing should 

 be disturbed/and that we would pay for everything In good 

 greenbacks, they became sociable and obliging. The old 

 gentleman offered to haul a load of sweet potatoes to the 

 camp at thirty cents a bushel, and priced his sheep at two 

 dollars and a half a head, all of which was paid. We even 

 paid him for the rails we burned, for he proved to be a good 

 man, and befriended us in a pinch. What a feast we had 

 that night, roast mutton and sweet potatoes. The men dried 

 their clothes and got a good night's sleep on that hillside. 



The next day, with a supply of sweet potatoes stored in 

 haversacks and ambulances, and our horses well fed with 

 sweet fodder, we turned our faces campward, receiving ac- 

 curate directions from our host as to the course, and on the 

 third day we reached our tents without the loss of a man. 



This perchance may meet the eyes of some of the boys — 

 now old men— who helped eat the mutton, if so, they will 

 know that "Crackers" still lives, CAf b Rook. 



Cape Girardeau, Mo. 



« 



THE BALTIMORE ORIOLE. 



(Icier us Galbula.) 



WHAT a beauty! Yes, you may well say so. Observe 

 the taste he displays in his dress— orange and jet— a 

 most perfect combination. The colors, too. so rich and of a 

 brilliancy I have rarely seen surpassed. The fine fellow is 

 the dandy of his family, his modest spouse affecting a more 

 quiet costume and appearing, in consequence, all the more 

 lovely by contrast. A joyous, rollicking chap is "Balti- 

 more," and a gay life he leads, spending most of his time in 

 the treetops, from whence his clear, ringing calls come down 

 to us with the rush of the breeze through the foliage. 

 There is a wild freshness about the life of this bird that im- 

 parts an indescribable charm to him. The home he builds is 

 a marvel of ingenuity, and so well is it put together that with 

 a little repairing it often answers for the second season. 

 Many times I have found it half filled with the husks of 

 beechnuts and empty acorn shells, remnants from the feasts 

 of tree mice, who took possession after the rightful owners 

 had vacated' the premises. With us he is inclined to favor 

 the beech as a building site, no doubt fiom the fact that its 

 twigs are stouter and less liable to snap in the strong gusts 

 which sometimes sweep among the boughs. 



Way out. in the last fork of some gracefully drooping 

 branch he will tie the foundation knots of his pendant home. 

 String, horsehair, paper, strips of soft cedar bark (and in 

 one instance in my own experience a piece of blue ribbon) 

 are most cunningly interwoven and shaped into a poucblike 

 form. Nearly a fortnight passes before the work is com- 

 pleted to the satisfaction of the little architects and the 

 house ready to receive its mistress. All is ready at last, and 

 "iny lady," looking as demure as possible, is soon deep in 

 household cares. 



The finished nest is a light, graceful structure, swaying 

 responsive to every breath that stirs, but withal so strong 

 that the fierce gale will only toss it about, without injuring 

 its contents, aud often the mother bird will ride out Ito 

 storm therein in perfect security. So well is it hidden that 

 it often passes unseen, the dark leaves roofing it in com- 

 pletely. The male, however, often betrays its whereabout* 

 with 'his noisy chatter, as he dashes at some careless bird 

 who has ventured too near, Immediately after you will hear 



