“’Tis my wife and children, colonel, that I have not seen in almost three years.”
“Tie up your boat again, captain,” said the colonel.
The captain ripped and tore and mentioned between oaths that he wasn’t taking orders from any army officers “not even Gen. Grant himself.”
Col. Hulser was furious and pulling his revolver he commanded the captain to reverse the engines and run out a gang plank.
The captain muttered between his teeth, touched the engineer’s bell and the gang plank again bridged the space between boat and dock. Sergt. Burke walked off, clasped his wife to his breast in a passionate embrace, then took a child on each arm, turned and faced his comrades, who had, sympathetically, been looking on, and they sent shoreward a mighty cheer.
“Bring your wife and little ones aboard!” shouted the colonel.
They came and went with us to Hart’s Island.
Mrs. Burke explained to the colonel that they had come from Tarrytown, or some other town up the Hudson, because “Little Mac” (named after Gen. George B. McClellan) had begged so hard to come and see his papa with the soldiers he had fought and marched with.
Mrs. Burke, Little Mac, and the sweet little blue-eyed sister saw the last dress parade of the 2d Heavy, and Sergt. Thomas Burke stood in line with his comrades.
It was certainly a grand privilege to go all through a great war and be permitted to come home with one’s own comrades. To be present at the last roll call. To hear the clatter of the bayonets as the battle-scarred muskets are stacked for the last time. To see the furling of the tattered colors that one has followed for four years. To hear the last command of the officers, the last tattoo and the final “taps.”