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
Acquit him in advance of hypocrisy and thus clarify the record. Money
was his avowed objective, the richly upholstered goal of his
solicitude,--money, even if merely accumulated for division among the
lawyers retained to break a will, as too frequently eventuates. For
him one crowded shower of glorious gold was worth a whole aurora
borealis of golden glory, earned at thirteen dollars a month and half
rations. Others might fight battles or write ballads for his country;
he was content to peddle its "Thomas and Jeremiah" fluid in flat tin
cans, surreptitious, villainous, and expensive. Others might stand
like Sheridan at Stone's river, holding his division amidst a cyclone
of shotted flame; he only asked a front seat at the paytable. Others
might manage the finances of a nation and temper wind to shorn shams;
he only petitioned that Sutler's checks be made full legal tender in
his military division. Others might yearn or pretend to yearn for
bleeding wounds and storied busts; sufficient unto him was two hundred
per cent. profit on cove oysters of antiquity. Like a fashionable
belle, his heart was always in the right place--the market place.
Honor and fame from no such conditions rise.
Pardonable then was his wrath when edibles and potables disappeared
unpaid for into parts unknown save to the Latin tongue, whence they
could be recovered only by the gentle persuasion of a stomach pump.
Thus the yellow coinage of his rapt preliminary visions faded
incomprehensibly into nothingness. Thus he emulated the survivors of a
cholera epidemic who only hear in happy dreams the footsteps of
return. Give him air! He had cause for chagrin equal to that of the
Senegambian colony with a new coon in town and no heat hot enough to
roast a 'possum. He had a right to grow apoplectic with fury and
devastate the camp like a commercial maelstrom or a political
avalanche. He righteously resented; he piously protested. He were a
craven else, and the heir and ancestor of cravens. Do you laugh at
him? So did Sarah laugh at the angels, but they laughed last.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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