The Army Mule, and Other War Sketches — John Shaqi
The Army Mule, and Other War SketchesCastle, Henry A. (Henry Anson)
History
The Army Mule, and Other War Sketches
Castle, Henry A. (Henry Anson)
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865; United States. Army -- Military life
The Mule recruit has thus rapidly developed into the Mule soldier. He
has been summarily mustered in, with a rope around his lower lip
rasping it to rawness, but without any very searching inquiries as to
his uncertain age, his wholly immaterial sex, his superfluous name, or
his complicated social status.
He has been blacksmithed as to hoof (much against his will), and
veterinaried as to shoulder. He must now march forth in the name of
the Union and emancipation, but must first be introduced to his
commander--and so must you, my beloved. Ye who have blushes to blush
for your species, prepare to blush them now, and then proceed to bury
Caesar, not to praise him.
The army teamster may be safely diagnosed as a chronic malady of war
times. With such rare and radiant exceptions as the immortal nominee
of the Seattle caucus, who carried a hare-lip and a pure heart, he was
a pestilent metaplasm. He was a product of heterogeneous aggregation
and the survival of misfits. His status was fixed in earliest infancy;
when he was vaccinated, the doctor is suspected of having thrown away
the child and saved the virus capsule. He professed no patriotism; he
pretended to no bravery; he cherished no martial ambitions. He had no
desire to fight. There was no need of an order to show cause why a
temporary injunction should not issue restraining him from carnage.
When his slim sweetheart, the dove-eyed, flat-chested maiden at Onion
creek, a stuttering siren to be courted only on the installment plan,
sent him to the field, it was with full assurance that he was not lost
to her forever--not he! The corn-fed, lank Delilah shrewdly guessed
that her prudent wooer would listen to battle's dissonant thunders
from posts of distant security, and come back unshot, unsabred, but
covered with vicarious glory, which he did. Heaven is merciful to the
idiotic and kind to the cautious. His previous occupations had varied
from cord-wood carpentry to slaughter-house surgery, and he had always
been disposed to shed perspiration with extreme diffidence. He was
mostly red-headed. He had been addicted to excess of raw spirits,
tobacco and other abominations--loving these, his enemies, with a
fine, magnanimous, scriptural, discrimination. He may be relied on to
fill a drunkard's grave some day, probably without even asking the
drunkard's permission; such are his knavish proclivities. His eye was
aglare with hate, every glance a stab. His occasional smile ran
through all the gamut of grins, from the smirk of conceit to the
simper of toadyism. He had a torpid liver and was no trustee of
beauty. His physical development was surprising; even an Englishman
never saw anything equal to it--outside of England. He was strong as
the Kansas zephyr that carried an anvil ten miles and came back next
morning after the hammer. Freckles were his trade-mark and profanity
was the staunch, infallible test of his identity. Huge quadrilateral
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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