Yours for the Union. P. DEVEREAUX. MY CAPTAIN. “Capt. Charles L. Smith, prostrated by sunstroke near Cold Harbor.” brings to mind the long, weary marches of that summer under broiling sun; the choking clouds of dust; the intense thirst; the scanty rations and consequent weakness which caused countless numbers to fall by the roadside. The name also stirs tender memories of a kind hearted officer, a gentleman and soldier--“My Captain,” who was ever gentle with and considerate for the welfare of the little lad whom he took with him to a real war. “Peace be to his ashes! Soldier, rest! Thy warfare o’er, Sleep the sleep that knows no breaking; Dream of battlefields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking-- We would not forget our dead.” [Illustration: CAPT. C. L. SMITH] In closing my memories of the war I am going to give an extract from an old letter written by my captain, who several years since went to join those of his command who had been summoned by the Great Captain of All. “Nov. 8, 1883.” “My Dear Boy: Your welcome letter of the 14th ult. at hand, and was most happy to learn over your own signature that you had not in the long years that have intervened forgotten me. Your old captain still lives, daily praying for and remembering the least under his command. “Oh, that I could see them pass in review as I did many a time in those stirring days. Many years have passed since and probably not one in 50 would I recognize, still I remember them all, living or dead, who went with me to the great war. “God knows my affection goes out to you all and I am not ashamed to say that my eyes fill with tears as I write. “My great regret is that I could not return every man and boy to their homes. But I could not. You remember I said I had no cowards in old Co. H. They were a brave, intelligent lot of men who obeyed orders, endured hardships and faced the guns of the enemy unflinchingly. “I recall you as but a child going with me to a real war where you were to spend years of your young life with your little drum. But my dear boy, it did good service, real genuine war service. “I remember you were the first drummer boy the 2d New York had, and I am proud to know that my own little drummer boy marched at the head of the regiment in every campaign down to Appomattox and beat the last tattoo for the regiment at Hart’s Island, New York Harbor, after nearly four years of service. “God bless you, how could I be other than proud of my little drummer boy?” FINIS. Transcriber’s Note: Seemingly at random, these two lines were printed at the top of page 18 of the original text: mules of the wagon trains, and after a couple of nowhere else for him to go. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Drum Taps in Dixie, by Delavan S. Miller