“Well ze next mornin’ Col. Whistler he led us up thro’ dat peech orchard; remember dat, boys? Bill and I we touch elbows and say nuthin’. Dem minies go, zip! zip! pretty fas’. I get excited an’ all at once I don’t feel Bill’s elbow touchin’ mine. I look roun’ an’ I see him lyin’ on his face. I turn him over an’ there’s a red spot on his forehead. I unbutton his shirt an’ feel for his heart; it was stop, an’ mine beat lak a beeg bass drum. I take this watch you see. I close his eyes. I press my lips to his, an’ cover him with my blanket, an’ that was the las’ of poor Bill.” THE COLONEL AND THE PENSION AGENT. A man whom we will call Jarvis Jenkins was a member of the same company and regiment as the writer. He served his country well, was wounded in battle and for nearly 25 years has been trying to establish his claim to a pension, but, living in the far west away from all of his old comrades, it has been a hard matter for him to get the testimony to satisfy the department. One day, some months since there walked into my place of business a gentleman who announced himself a special agent of the pension department, and, after asking my name, age, and if I was the identical person who served as drummer boy in such a company and regiment during the Civil war, the answer being in the affirmative, he then desired to know if I recalled one Jarvis Jenkins, and, if so, could I tell of any particular thing that happened to him. Yes, he received a scalp wound in one of the assaults at Petersburg. This did not seem to be the information wanted, for sometimes it would seem that the affairs of the pension office are administered somewhat after the manner of the “circumlocution office” described by Charles Dickens in the charming book of “Little Dorrit.” So another tack was taken and the following question propounded: “Did you while at Fort Haggerty, Va., own a revolver?” I admitted that I had once in my life, and only once been the proud possessor of a deadly weapon. Could I tell what became of it? Answer: “Traded with ‘Lige’ Moyer, our company cook, for a watch, and paid him in boot more than the watch was worth.” “Now, sir, can it be that you are mistaken and is it not possible that you loaned your revolver to Jarvis Jenkins to hunt rabbits with and that it exploded in his hand, lacerating his fingers badly?” Answer: “No, sir.” “Then,” said the government agent, “I must look up another drummer boy of the 2d New York, for it is certain that some one loaned him a revolver which exploded as stated.” The special agent was a pleasant fellow, and as we smoked a couple of cigars he showed me a great mass of testimony that had been taken in the case and said that he had traveled more than 1,000 miles to interview members of the regiment. “By the way,” he said, “I am going to read you extracts from the testimony of your old lieutenant colonel which I took down in shorthand.”