OFF FOR THE WAR.
When the news was flashed across the country that Fort Sumter had been fired upon the writer was a 12-year-old boy residing in West Carthage. The events of those days stand forth in his memory like the hillcrests of a landscape.
The shot electrified the north, and the martial current that went from man to man was imparted to the boys. Favorite sports and pastimes lost their zest. Juvenile military companies paraded the streets every evening and mimic battles were fought every Saturday afternoon.
The flag lowered over Fort Sumter was unfurled everywhere. Flags cost money in those days, too, but they were flung to the breeze from the tops of churches, school houses, business places and the homes of the rich and the poor. I used to go up on the roof of my home nearly every day to count the new banners.
The rendezvous for the boys of our neighborhood was Jim Corey’s blacksmith shop. Jim was a typical “village blacksmith” with a hearty greeting for every one, old and young. The boys could always count on Jim’s sympathy if they had a stone bruise, got a licking at home or lacked ten cents of the price of a circus ticket.
Corey’s shop was also a favorite meeting place for the men. Here they would assemble after supper and discuss the all-absorbing topic, the war.
One of the most regular in attendance was “Wash” Hopkins, as he was familiarly called. A particular nail keg with a piece of buffalo skin thrown over the end was the seat always reserved for him. He usually allowed the others to do the talking, but when he had anything to say it was right to the point.
Almost everybody was of the opinion that the South was putting up a big game of bluff and that the affair would blow over quickly.
On one occasion those gathered in the blacksmith shop had been discussing the situation and were pretty unanimous that the rebellion would be crushed out in sixty days. “Wash” roused himself and quietly remarked: “Guess you’d better make it ninety, boys.”
At another time a young man was telling those assembled that he had enlisted in a company of sharpshooters; that they were going to pick off the rebel officers and artillerymen as fast as they showed themselves, which would demoralize the troops and send them flying from the field. “That’s all right,” says “Wash,” “but what do you suppose the other fellows are going to do while you’re shooting at them? Perhaps they may have sharpshooters, too.”