Adventures and Reminiscences of a Volunteer; Or, A Drummer Boy from Maine

by George T. Ulmer

I looked up in a guilty sort of way and told him, “I was digging for a shell that lit there while he was gone.”

“Ge-whiz! I guess I’d better get out of this place as quick as I can. I say, Mister, whar’s your Comp’ny?”

“What’s alive of them are at the front, suffering from want and hunger,” I replied in a strong manner, thinking perhaps he would drive nearer and distribute his load. But he was bent on going back. As he climbed to his seat he said, “I’ll tell you, Mr. Sergeant, you kin take a few of these things to the men that are sick in your company.”

“They are all sick,” I said quickly, for I was greedy and wanted all I could get. He pulled out a hospital shirt and tied up the neck. Having filled it with condensed milk, tobacco, and other things, he asked me if I could carry it. “Could I! I could carry all there’s in your cart,” I replied. I found my load was a little heavier than I had expected it to be, but I wouldn’t say there was too much, but helped him to hitch up his mules and he started off, after giving me a warm hand-shake. I watched him until he disappeared from view, and then thought I would open up the treasure I had buried and deposit some of the shirtful which he had so kindly given me after I had robbed him. It would lighten the load and I could return for the balance next day. I had just started to dig, when I looked up and saw him driving back as hard as he could drive, “Say, young fellow, I—I—I,” in a wild, excited manner, reigning his mules up with a jerk and a “Whoa, thar,” loud enough to be heard in Petersburg, “I—I thought I’d drive back and dig up that darned shell. It’ll be a great curiosity. When I get home I can show the folks the dangerous position I was placed in while distributing these things.”

I didn’t stop to hear any more, but hurried away with my shirtful. I ran hard and fast, and didn’t dare to turn and look round. The shells began to whiz pretty thickly just at this time, and I prayed and hoped that the old man would get scared and not dig for that shell, for I wanted the boys to have it.

The Great Mine Explosion in Front of Petersburg.

This was on the day fixed for the great mine explosion, every soldier on the entire line was waiting with bated breath for the signal or prolonged rumble of that expected explosion. It did not come, however. The suspense was broken by the appearance nearly a half a mile away, of a soldier with something white on his back, that made a good target for the rebel sharpshooters. Down the railroad I came. I reached the first line of earthworks. For a short distance I would keep on top. In this way I kept on, on, first running one breastwork then another, till I reached the front line. On top of this I ran the whole length, heedless and unmindful of the rebel bullets that pelted about me. I almost flew along. The soldiers shouted to me to keep down, but I heeded them not. Finally I reached the place where my regiment was, jumped down as coolly as if I had run no risk, deposited my bag, received the congratulations of my company, who examined me all over to see if there were any wounds. They found none, however, but on opening the shirt every can of milk had a bullet hole through it, and condensed milk, extract of beef, and tobacco had to be eaten as a soufflee.

The next day found me at the rear again. I looked for the buried treasure—found it. Evidently the old gent had been frightened away, for about half the dirt had been removed from the top, and the stuff was not uncovered. There was a desperate fight going on at the right of our line. I was pressed into the service of the stretcher corps, which is usually composed of drummer boys. I did duty at this all the forenoon. The onslaught was terrible, and many poor fellows did I help carry off that field; some to live for an hour, others to lose a limb that would prove their valor and courage for the balance of their lives.