United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
The story which I extracted from the “boys” was, in substance, this:
William Scott, one of these mountain boys, just of age, had enlisted
in Company K. Accustomed to his regular sound and healthy sleep, not
yet inured to the life of the camp, he had volunteered to take the
place of a sick comrade who had been detailed for picket duty, and had
passed the night as a sentinel on guard. The next day he was himself
detailed for the same duty, and undertook its performance. But he found
it impossible to keep awake for two nights in succession, and had been
found by the relief sound asleep on his post. For this offence he had
been tried by a court-martial, found guilty, and sentenced to be shot
within twenty-four hours after his trial, and on the second morning
after his offence was committed.
Scott’s comrades had set about saving him in a characteristic way. They
had called a meeting, and appointed a committee, with power to use all
the resources of the regiment in his behalf. Strangers in Washington,
the committee had resolved to call on me for advice, because I was a
Vermonter, and they had already marched from the camp to my office
since daylight that morning.
The Captain took all the blame from Scott upon himself. Scott’s mother
opposed his enlistment on the ground of his inexperience, and had
only consented on the Captain’s promise to look after him as if he
were his own son. This he had wholly failed to do. He must have been
asleep or stupid himself, he said, when he paid no attention to the
boy’s statement that he had fallen asleep during the day, and feared
he could not keep awake the second night on picket. Instead of sending
some one or going himself in Scott’s place, as he should, he had let
him go to his death. He alone was guilty--“If any one ought to be shot,
I am the fellow, and everybody at home would have the right to say
so.” “There must be some way to save him, judge!” (They all called me
judge.) “He is as good a boy as there is in the army, and he ain’t to
blame. You will help us, now, won’t you?” he said, almost with tears.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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