Hawley was not cut out for a soldier—in fact he was several sizes too large. His corpulency made him appear rather ludicrous when he tried to line up with the slender youths of the company on dress parade.
Tom Murphy, the orderly sergeant, was always yelling out “right dress there, Hawley.”
One Sunday morning the regiment was being inspected by an Irish major and as he came to Hawley he looked him over and remarked that he didn’t know what the h—l anybody was thinking of to enlist a man of his build, and he should think the best thing to do with him was to send him home. “All right, sir,” says Hawley, “I’ll go today, if you please.”
The man was a natural wit and an adept in the use of sarcasm, and had a way of talking back to his superiors that usually put the laugh on them. The truth is the boys of ’61 didn’t stand much “putting on airs” by the officers, and if one did make a show of his authority the men made life miserable for him.
Hawley was finally made to earn his $11 a month (that was our munificent pay then) by doing duty as company cook, a position he filled with credit to himself and satisfaction to his boarders. He was not content to serve up “salt hoss” and boiled beef in the easy manner of most army cooks, but was ever fixing us a nice treat of hash or an “Irish stew” with dumplings, and Hawley’s dumplings became famous throughout the Second Heavy.
Evenings we used to gather around the cook house and listen to Hawley’s impersonations of Shakespearean characters, in which he was very clever, and from Shakespeare he would turn to the Bible, with which he was exceedingly familiar.
When we went to the front Hawley left his camp kettles behind and shouldered a musket. On the retreat from Bull Run Hawley became played out and he declared he could go no further. The boys urged him to keep along with them and not get captured, but Hawley said if they wanted him they would have to take him, which they did and got an elephant on their hands too. Hawley’s account of his experience with the rebels was very funny. They found him lying by the roadside and ordered him to get up and go along with them. He told them he could not march another step, and if they wanted him to go to Libby prison they would have to furnish a conveyance. The rebel officer coaxed, swore and threatened, but all to no purpose. Hawley would not budge an inch. Finally a horse was brought and he was told to mount. Hawley declared he could not and then the officer directed some of the men to assist him, and two guards were ordered to walk by the side of the horse and hold him on. Hawley’s comments about the razor-backed horse and other sarcastic remarks made sport for all except the officer in charge, who threatened more than once to gag his tormentor. The Confederates probably thought the best thing to do was to get Hawley off their hands, so after keeping him in captivity a couple of days they paroled him and sent him inside our lines instead of to Andersonville prison, where so many of his comrades had to go, many never to return.
FINISHED HIS SMOKE IN LIBBY.
An incident of the stampede from Manassas illustrates how unconcerned some are amidst danger and excitement. Jimmy West, a little Irishman of our company, was a character and an inveterate smoker and never lost a chance to indulge himself. After the retreat was well under way, Jimmy bethought himself of his pipe and tobacco, but a match was lacking and none of his nearby comrades had one, so he yelled out to our first sergeant, at the head of the company:
“I say there, orderly, hev’ you a bit of a match about ye?”