THE COLONEL’S FORAGED BREAKFAST.
Colonel Johnson, commanding the 108th Regiment, Illinois Volunteer Infantry, during the late war, up to the time he fairly earned and secured his “single star,” was a strict disciplinarian. Straggling and foraging were especially tabooed by him; certain and severe was the punishment of the culprit who was caught away from his command without authority, and if any foraged provisions were found on the scoundrel they were at once confiscated. As it was not practicable to return the provisions to the lawful owner, the colonel would have them served up at his own mess table, “to keep them from going to waste.”
As a consequence, the colonel was cordially hated by many of his men, and many were the plans laid down by them “to get even” and circumvent him, but, owing to his astuteness, they generally came to grief.
One day a soldier of the regiment, who had the reputation of being “a first-class, single-handed forager,” but who had nevertheless been repeatedly compelled to disgorge his irregularly procured supply of fresh meat, and as repeatedly to pass an interval of his valuable time in the regimental bull-pen, slipped away from camp and, after an absence of several hours, returned with a loaded haversack and tried to get to his tent without attracting any attention. He was noticed, however, and promptly arrested and escorted to regimental headquarters.
“Omar, you infernal scoundrel, you have been foraging again,” said the colonel.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Haven’t, eh! Let’s see what is in your haversack. Leg o’ mutton, eh! Killed some person’s sheep,” said the colonel. Omar was sent to the guard house as usual, and the foraged property to the colonel’s cook.
The regimental mess, consisting of most of the field and staff officers, had fresh meat for supper and breakfast. During the latter meal the colonel happened to look out from under the tent fly that was in use as a mess-room, and noticed Omar, who was under guard cleaning up around headquarters, eyeing him very closely. The colonel remarked: “Well, prisoner, what is it?”
“Nothing, colonel,” replied Omar, “except I was just wondering how you liked your breakfast of fried dog.”
Consternation seized the party at the table. With an exclamation or expletive, every one of them sprang to his feet, and from under the tent fled.
Omar ran for his life, and at once, as per preconcerted agreement, over half the men in the regiment commenced barking and howling like dogs—big dogs, little dogs, hoarse and fine, bass and soprano, fortissimo and mezzo-soprano, dogs ’round the corner and dogs under the house—in short, there was the “dog”-onedest kind of a racket made until the colonel grasped his sword, and, foaming with rage, rushed for the men’s tents; but they were too old to be caught.
For a long time, though, they would “regulate” the colonel if he showed signs of being excessive by barking, but at their peril, for he would certainly have killed a barker if discovered.
After that breakfast the regimental mess strictly abstained from eating any second-hand foraged meat.