Short stories; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
My meeting with him was accidental. I came across him passing through
“the square”. I had seen him once or twice on the street, each time
lurching along so drunk that he could scarcely stagger, so that I was
surprised to hear what he said about the war. He was talking to someone
who evidently had been in the army himself, but on the other side--a
gentleman with the loyal-legion button in his coat, and with a beautiful
scar, a sabre-cut across his face. He was telling of a charge in some
battle or skirmish in which, he declared, his company, not himself--for
I remember he said he was “No. 4”, and was generally told off to hold
the horses; and that that day he had had the ill luck to lose his horse
and get a little scratch himself, so he was not in the charge--did the
finest work he ever saw, and really (so he claimed) saved the day. It
was this self-abnegation that first arrested my attention, for I had
been accustomed all my life to hear the war talked of; it was one of the
inspiring influences in my humdrum existence. But the speakers,
although they generally boasted of their commands, never of themselves
individually, usually admitted that they themselves had been in the
active force, and thus tacitly shared in the credit. “No. 4”, however,
expressly disclaimed that he was entitled to any of the praise,
declaring that he was safe behind the crest of the hill (which he said
he “hugged mighty close”), and claimed the glory for the rest of the
command.
“It happened just as I have told you here,” he said, in closing. “Old
Joe saw the point as soon as the battery went to work, and sent Binford
Terrell to the colonel to ask him to let him go over there and take
it; and when Joe gave the word the boys went. They didn’t go at a walk
either, I tell you; it wasn’t any promenade: they went clipping. At
first the guns shot over ‘em; didn’t catch ‘em till the third fire; then
they played the devil with ‘em: but the boys were up there right in ‘em
before they could do much. They turned the guns on ‘em as they went
down the hill (oh, our boys could handle the tubes then as well as the
artillery themselves), and in a little while the rest of the line came
up, and we formed a line of battle right there on that crest, and held
it till nearly night. That’s when I got jabbed. I picked up another
horse, and with my foolishness went over there. That evening, you know,
you all charged us--we were dismounted then. We lost more men then than
we had done all day; there were forty-seven out of seventy-two killed or
wounded. They walked all over us; two of ‘em got hold of me (you see,
I went to get our old flag some of you had got hold of), but I was too
worthless to die. There were lots of ‘em did go though, I tell you; old
Joe in the lead. Yes, sir; the old company won that day, and old Joe led
‘em. There ain’t but a few of us left; but when you want us, Colonel,
you can get us. We’ll stand by you.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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