, and
strictly cautioned to remain close at hand, and ready to fall in at the
tap of a drum. This state of things continued for some days, then the
trouble would seemingly blow over, and later would break out again.
While we were thus on the ragged edge, and expecting a battle almost
any hour, a little incident occurred which somehow made on me a deep
and peculiar impression. To explain it fully, I must go back to our
first days at Pittsburg Landing. A day or two after our arrival there,
Lt. Keeley said to me that the regimental color guard, to consist of a
sergeant and eight corporals, was being formed, that Co. D had been
called on for a corporal for that duty, and that I should report to
Maj. Ohr for instructions. Naturally I felt quite proud over this, and
forthwith reported to the Major, at his tent, and stated my business.
He looked at me in silence, and closely, for a few seconds, and then
remarked, in substance, that I could go to my quarters, and if needed,
would be notified later. This puzzled me somewhat, but I supposed it
would come out all right in due time. There was a corporal in our
company to whom I will give a fictitious name, and call him Sam Cobb.
He was a big, fine looking fellow, and somewhere between twenty-five
and thirty years old. And an hour or two after my dismissal by Maj.
Ohr, I heard Sam loudly proclaiming, with many fierce oaths, to a
little group of Co. D. boys, that he "had been promoted." That he was a
"color corporal, by ----!" This announcement was accompanied by sundry
vociferous statements in regard to Maj. Ohr knowing exactly the kind of
men to get to guard the colors of the regiment in time of battle, and
so on, and so on. I heard all this with mortification and bitterness of
spirit. The reason now dawned on me why I had been rejected. I was only
a boy, rather small for my age, and at this time feeble in appearance.
Maj. Ohr, quite properly, wanted strong, stalwart, fine looking men for
the color guard. A little reflection convinced me that he was right,
and could not be blamed for his action. But he found out later, (in
this particular case, at least) that something more than a fine
appearance was required to make a soldier. Only two or three days after
Sam's "promotion," came the battle of Shiloh, and at the very first
volley the regiment received, he threw down his gun, and ran like a
whipped cur. The straps and buckles of his cartridge box were new and
stiff, so he didn't take