A few days later his comrades carried him to a mournful tune of fife and drum, and fired a last salute over his lonely grave.
“Of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these, it might have been.”
CHAPTER XXI
A HOUSE MOVING
General Collis, then in command of the colored brigade at the Point, on abandoning his adjutant’s little frame house or office about fifteen feet by ten, kindly gave it to me. A large army wagon on which it was raised, for removal, supported by a squad of soldiers on either side, and hauled by six mules, made quite an impression coming up Agency Row, especially as it carried away the telegraph wires over the road. One of our large tents was moved to give it space, and the real door and little glass window in it made us quite the envy of the Row. It was divided into two rooms, having a tent roof. The front room was for business purposes. The smaller, which had a window about a foot square, was large enough only for a bunk with a straw bed, a packing box for a dresser, a hand glass and a barrel chair, and so New York was added to Pennsylvania and New Jersey Agencies.
This recalls a night incident somewhat later, when Mrs. Painter and I were sleeping in the bunk. I was startled by Mrs. Painter springing up on to the dresser and screaming loudly, “Murder! Thieves! Help!” almost in the face of a scamp at the window, who was evidently trying to reach the wines hidden under the dresser. Mrs. Painter was a very small woman of the old time Quaker stamp, and she wore a little white night cap, and the proverbial short gown and petticoat. As the poor fellow took to his heels and the neighbouring tents were aroused, I could only lie still and laugh at the ludicrous scene. He lost a great army shoe which rested conspicuously on a rise of ground, quite distant.
Another amusing incident comes to my mind in connection with my little house. One night there came a thundering knock on the door, on which remained the word “Adjutant.” On opening I found a soldier standing at attention and more than “half-seas-over,” so that he could not distinguish a woman from an officer. He had been on furlough, and insisted on my taking his pass, but at last I succeeded in starting him for the proper office.
An incident occurs to me of a New York newspaper reporter who was invited to the mess of General Grant and staff. While drinking was more common than now, no one so far forgot himself as to become intoxicated in the presence of the General, whose self-control and rigid discipline all respected. But this man so demeaned himself as to “get under the table,” and the officers present were excited to the utmost contempt and indignation at this breach of etiquette in the presence of the commander of the United States Armies. If intoxication had been common at Headquarters, camp gossip would certainly have travelled the half mile to the state agencies and brought us news of it. General Grant, however, was unhappily addicted to the excessive use of tobacco, which eventually caused him much suffering, and, later, his life.
MISS JONES, OF PHILADELPHIA