B22 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[April 28, igoo. 
Sam's Boy.-XXI. 
It was many years since the cinder-paved streets of the 
Forge Village had sounded with the metallic notes of 
iife and drum, not indeed since the farce of June training 
had fallen into dishonor and disuse, and was remembered 
only in the titles, which still clung to the surviving 
officers of the old "Floodwood Mihtia." 
But now, on a bright April day in the year 1861, it was 
vividly recalled to the minds of elderly men by the un- 
wonted military strains ringing through the usually quiet 
thoroughfare from the front of Claphani's store, where a 
fifer and two drummers who had fortunately preserved the 
traditions of the past were shrilling, rattling and boom- 
ing the inspiring notes of the national airs with hearty 
good will. 
There was the usual attendance of boys, to whom the 
strange demonstration meant only a new source of fun, 
though they were somewhat awed by the grave faces 
of their elders, which seemed to denote a lack of proper 
appreciation of the occasion. 
A remarkable seriousness pervaded the assembling 
yeomanps those who walked singly toward the chief 
point of interest, the groups that gathered lingering on 
the Avay, and the crowd that thronged in front of the un- 
finished new annex to the store, were very quiet, though 
so evidently moved by suppressed excitement. 
One would never have thought that these plain, com- 
mon, unsentimental men could be so deeply stirred by 
patriotic emotion, not blatantly boasting of what they 
would do, but quietly determined to^ do all men could 
do to uphold the honor and the life of the nation which 
were now assailed. 
Clapham sat in an arm chair on the stoop, reading 
yesterday's daily to a group. Among the listeners stood 
Joel Bartlett, now a venerable white-haired man, with 
his back turned upon the musicians, whose noisy per- 
formance he quite ignored. 
"President calls for seventy-five thousan' troops," 
Clapham i-ead. "Bombardment of Fort Sumter still con- 
tinues. Gov'nor Fairbanks calls a' extra settin' of the 
Leegislature. Enlistments goin' on rapid. Fust rigimint 
nearly full, an' so futh, and so futh." 
Sam Lovel and his son were just then passing, and 
stopped a moment to listen. 
"Fellow citizens of Danvis!" shouted young Lawyer 
Danforth, a recent importation, who had just displayed his 
virgin shingle over his office in the chamber of Clapham's 
score, and now had visions of a captaincy and futvire civil 
preferment. "Fellow citizens!" he repeated, making him- 
self heard during a break in the music, "your country ex- 
pects every man to do his duty. Walk right up and 
enlist!" 
"Hev you?" some one asked. 
"No," Danforth answered; "I'm going to Adams to 
recruit men to-morrow and expect to enlist them." 
"Oh!" the questioner remarked, dryly, as Sam passed 
into the room, where a lieutenant of the regular army 
sat writing at an empty dry goods box. 
"Ye would not give heed to the words of the prophets, 
and now the jedgment of the Lord has overtaken ye," 
said Joel Bartlett, solemnly. "Woe, woe be unto them 
against whom His wrath is kindled." 
"That's true enough, Joel," a younger neighbor said, 
"but I cal'late it's kindled hotter ag'in the other fellers 
and the Lord kinder wants us fur a scourge tu 'em." 
"The sin o' slavery is the cause on't all, an' we're all 
guilty," Joel responded. 
Sammy \vas looking around for his father, when he saw 
him coming out of the recruiting office and went 
to him. Sam's face was very grave, yet shone with a 
holy elation. 
"Come, boy, le's go hum naow," said he, passing an 
arm through his tall son's, whose head was on a level 
with his own. 
"In a minute, daddy; just le' me speak tu Peltier Gove," 
said Sammy, and he slipped into the crowd and then into 
the office, where he found Pelatiah at the impromptu 
desk. "Mr. Gove," he asked, "has father 'listed?" 
Pelatiah regarded him fixedly a moment and pointed to 
the name of "Samuel Lovel" on the roll, and under it he 
saw that of "Pelatiah Gove." 
"Let me put my name daown there, Mister," said 
Sammy, standing very erect, while the young officer ran 
an admiring glance over the handsome young figure. 
"Is your father willin', Sammy?" Pelatiah asked. 
"He didn't ask me," Sammy said, with a little laugh, 
and having completed his enrollment, quietly rejoined his 
father. "Le's go over where the women's makin' the 
flag," he said, and the two went over to the town house, 
where a score of young women were sewing the stripes 
of a new flag together, and fixing the stars in the blue 
field under the direction of Mr. Mumpson, the school- 
master. 
Some giggled and gossipped as if they were at a quilt- 
ing, while a few plied their needles with grave faces, as 
if duly impressed with the holy significance of the work 
upon which they were engaged. 
Among them was Aunt Polly, now two months a bride, 
after many years of courtship. There was a serious yet 
almost exultant look in her eyes as they dwelt fondly on 
the pale face of her husband. 
"Maybe it's wicked, but I can't help feelin' glad you 
can't go," she whispered. 
"It would be hard for us to part, dear child, but no 
harder than for many others," he said, sadly, "and it's 
hatd to stay behind when you can't tell folks just why." 
"The folks that don't know will give any reason but 
the right one." 
A pink and white cheeked, golden-tressed and blue- 
eyed lass came over to the pair. 
"Why, Mr. Mumpson, you hain't goin' tu waste your 
time makin' flags, be ye? Ain't you goin' tu enlist?" 
she simpered. 
"No, Miss Nancy, I don't think I shall enlist," the 
schoolmaster answered, quietly, with a sad smile. 
Nancy Barnes opened her blue eyes. "Why, T don't 
see haow a man can help it, they du look so neat all 
dressed up in the' uniforms. I see a hul snag o' em 
daown tu the t air last fall, as much as fifty, an' they did 
Jook gplen4?(}^0Jily the' *;1q§' was gray— blue',s ever so 
much pootier. Jes' look a' that kftenant 'at's 'Hstin' of 
'em! My! hain't he jest lovely? I tol' Jim I wouldn't 
never speak tu him nor yet look at him ag'in if he 
didn't go." She blushed to a rosier hue, and simpered a 
sillier smile. "Why, Mis' Mumpson, I should think 
you'd make Mr. Mumpson go!" 
"He" gen'ally does what he thinks is best," Polly an- 
swered, rather stiffly, with an evident wish to end the 
conversation. But Nancy was of no such mind. 
"Why, he hain't tew old, is he?" she asked, with a 
sneer._ "He 'pears tu be well 'nough tu git 'raound an' 
eat his meals when he's boardin'. I hope he hain't 
feared! Oh, I hate a coward. He needn't be, for pa 
says they'll settle it all up in a month. They won't fight." 
The schoolmaster's pale face flushed scarlet, and his 
wife flashed out angrily at his insulter. "Lie a coward! 
It's a lie! You don't know what j^ou're sayin', Nancy 
Barnes. He'd go fast enough if he could without my 
sendin' him, but not tu strut 'raound in blue clo'se. He 
knows there'll be fightin' enough, an' that's what he'd 
go for. I would da'st tu send him, as you have Jim, 
poor boy. S'posin' he never comes back, as many a one 
never will — I wouldn't be in your shoes." 
The pink of Nancy's cheeks faded all to white, and she 
beat a hasty retreat from the angry fire of Polly's eyes. 
Through the open door, as Sam and his boy entered, 
came the songs of robins, and the long-drawn sweetness 
of a lark's note from the nearest meadow mingled in the 
soft April air with the martial din of fife and drum, 
sounds of gentle peace and dreadful war strangely 
blended. 
"Why, Aunt Polly," said Sammy, noting the scared 
face of the retreating girl and the wrathful one of his 
young aunt, "hast the fightin' begun tO' home, an' 
amongst the women?" 
"I suppose they're all in a hurrah daown tu the village? 
Many 'listin' ?" Huldah asked, as the family sat at supper 
that evening. 
"Why, yes, tol'able many," Sa;m admitted. Something 
in his look and tone made Huldah's heart stand still'. ''' 
"Oh, Samwil, hev you?" she faltered, and Sam nodded 
his head gravely. 
"You wouldn't think much on m-e if I didn't, Huldy," 
"I know, but it seems as if the' was enougli others." 
"S'posin' they all said so." 
"The Lord bless you and all," and she bowed her 
head. 
"Peltier has, tew; an' Billy Wiggins, an' young Tom 
Hamlin, an' he hain't but eighteen," said Sammy. 
"So young," sighed Huldah, laying her hand on her 
tall son's shoulder. "But they can't have my big boy 
yet. He must ta' care o' mammy an' his sister an' 
brother." 
"But, mother," Sammy said; and then with some 
pride, "I—I hev' 'listed. I thought you'd want me to go 
with daddy." 
Huldah groaned aloud, and Sam choked with con- 
flicting emotions. 
"Oh, must I give you both up?" she gasped, arid she 
and Aunt Jerusha retired to hide their womanly tears. 
When the company was full Sam was unanimously 
elected captain, and Pelatiah first lieutenant, greatly to 
the disgust of Mr. Danforth. Poor Mr. Mumpson was 
rejected for physical disability and consoled himself \vith 
the increased love and respect of Polly, and in teaching 
the Danvis youth a new lesson. 
There were a few days of hurried preparation before the 
Danvis volunteers bade sad farewell to home and loved 
ones and went into camp with their regiment in the town 
where the First Vermont troops were mustered. For 
several it was their first railroad journey, and new and 
strange experiences followed thick and fast. These hum- 
ble, unknown men were suddenly become the observed of 
all observers, and the pets of fine ladies and gentlemen — 
accustomed all their lives to come and go at their own 
sweet will, they were now subjected to rigid discipline 
and unquestioning obedience to men formerly of their 
own station. It came hard at first to show due deference 
to the gold lace and buttons of new-made brigadiers who 
were yesterday village lawyers, now far more impressed 
with their new dignity than were the modest gentlemen 
of the regular army who came to set the rude machinery 
into smoothly working action. 
The half of Danvis came to see its soldier boys in 
camp, to admire them on parade, to pity their hardships 
of sleeping on straw under canvas, drinking creamless 
coffee from tin cups, and eating monotonous pork and 
beans off tin plates, and wonder how heroically they bore 
it all. 
Then came the final farewell to the people, the green 
fields and bright streams of their beloved Vermont, to 
the grand landmarks of the towering mountains fading 
to fainter blue further and further behind. Then the 
proud march through great cities, gay with innumerable 
banners, amid applauding crowds, and the coming at last 
under sunny Southern skies to the scenes of real, dread- 
ful war, the thunder of cannon booming from afar, the 
sight of wounded men fresh from the first skirmishes, and 
thereat the sickening fear that untried courage might 
fail at the actual test. Now came camp life in earnest, 
the awful loneliness of the picket line, weary marches 
and bivouacs in rain and mire with scant rations and 
sometimes none at all — and usually to no purpose. Let- 
ters came from them to the friends at home, and were 
always opened with dread, then read with devout thanks 
that they brought no evil tidings. _ The good schoolmaster 
wrote letters full of cheer and neighborhood news to the 
few who had no near friends at home, and got many a 
silent, heartfelt blessing in return. 
One day. Uncle Lisha, exempt by age from all labor, 
came back from his semi-weekly trip to the post-office, 
leaning heavily on his staff, and led by Sam's second 
boy, his present constant comrade, and brought a letter 
from Sam that told of a great movement of the Army of 
the Potomac about taking_ place. For all its hopefulness 
there were solemn words in it that might be a long fare- 
well, and Huldah's always anxious heart was very "heavy. 
How anxiously all waited for news, only those know who 
have suffered a like experience. Then came rumors, then 
assured tidings of an overwhelming disaster to the army 
and then many davs of fear and hone and suspense, while 
word of the loA^ed ones was waited for. With what devout 
thanksgiving was it received at last, news that they were 
all unharmed and free. Many more such seasons were to 
tje passed through, and one continuous heartache before 
the brave regiment fought its way to final victory audi 
the cruel war wqs ended. When it returned with thinned; 
ranks and torn banners and boys grown to beared vet-, 
erans, it brought safely back its members to the Lovel 
household. 
Huldah bravely bore the four heavy years of heart-1 
ache and hope deferred, when her brave beloved werei 
happily restored to her, but the humble hero Pelatiah, 
(always tenderly remembered by his Danvis friends andj 
comrades) sleeps under the alien sod of Virginia. Every 
year there are flowers on Louizy's grave for his sake. 
Old men and women are they all now who survive, to 
whom the memory of that cruel war is a troubled, dream,, 
its sorrows softened by the kindly hand of time, many 
of its hopes unfulfilled. 
Rowland E. Robinson. 
Chief Washakie, 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Several days ago I received a letter from Mr. Ed 
Carter, of Fort Washakie, Wyo., slating that old Chief 
Washakie had died on Feb. 19. Believing that many 
of your readers have heard of this famous old chief, and 
having, while on a hunting trip through that country last 
fall, secured several good photographs of the old man, I 
am inclosing you a copy of the same, thinking that you 
might like to reproduce it in Forest and Stbeam. 
Big Chief Washakie was probably the most unique and 
deserving oi' all the Indians. As some one has said, he wai| 
the "Napoleon of the red man," and while he himscll- 
was always at peace with the whites, it was not througl' 
fear or desire to curry favor, but because he realized that 
the cause of the Indian was dependent upon the good wiili 
of the "pale face." ! 
Washakie's followers frequently broke away and went' 
WASHAKIE. 
Long- Chief of the Shoshone Indians. ; 
Photo by C. P. Ambler. 
on the war path, but the old chief always rounded them 
up, and by diplomacy would quiet them down. 
You will notice in the photograph that the old chief is 
dressed in a manner which would lead one to believe thai! 
his poverty must be great, but such is not the case, as he 
had had ample opportunities and was also a pensioner 
under the Government. 
When President Arthur and Gen. Phil Sheridan visited 
Fort Washakie in 188S, Chief Washakie made a lasting! 
impression upon them. The old chief met the Preside n. 
arrayed in the garments of a very poor Indian, while n!' 
around were gayly bedecked warriors in paint and feather 
headpieces. The President was amused to see the gor- 
geous raiment of the Avarriors while the chief was sc 
plainly clad, and turning to the latter, he said: "Why is 
it I find the great Peace Chief so plainly clad while those 
who look to him for orders sit by in gorgeous array and 
haughty demeanor?" 
The old chief smilingly said: "I am the chief only as far 
as being the speaker of these people is being concerned. 
I speak for the lowest as well as the highest, and he is 
best entitled to the respect and trust who does not fall 
a victim to his own vanity, and who fears not to stand in 
the place of his most wretched subject." 
President Arthur never tired of telling Washakie's 
reply. It was characteristic of the man. 
I asked the old chief and some of his followers to allow, 
me to take their photographs and inclose a copy of each,' 
thinking that the same as a matter of comparison might be 
of interest. 
This grand old man was close to a hundred years of 
age, had been a great chief among his people, not only 
from a diplomatic point of view, but was also a great 
warrior and a good hunter. He was covered with scars, 
and many stories are still told of his prowcs on the war 
path and the game trail. C. P. Ambler. . 
The Forest and Stream is pttt icf press each week liii Tuesda 
Correspondence intended for publication should reach Vis at the 
latest by Monday and as much farlier as practlcatile. 
