“Accompanied by Gens. Stevenson, Ransom, and several other officers, I followed Gen. Logan to the tent of Stohlbrand. Then Logan said: ‘Out of respect for poor Stohlbrand we have put everything in order again. Here you see his camp stool, there his uniform, and there is his little field cot.’ The bed looked as if a dead body was lying on it, covered by a blanket. Logan walked solemnly up to the head of the bed, lifted the blanket, and behold, there was only a bundle of rags! The rest of us, of course, supposed that Stohlbrand was dead, and that his corpse was lying on the bed. This little joke made the humorous Logan laugh so that his whole body shook.
“As to the Swedes in the army, I may mention that, besides our Company D, there are in the same division the company of Capt. Arosenius of the Forty-third Illinois regiment, and that of Capt. Corneliuson of the Twenty-third Wisconsin regiment, and a number of Swedes of the other regiments from Illinois and Wisconsin, and of the Fourth and Fifth Minnesota regiments. Old Company D is a model, as usual,—the best one I have seen yet. Both officers and men are quiet, orderly, cheerful and obedient, always faithful at their post, and ready to go wherever duty calls them. They are loved and respected by all who come in contact with them. When I feel sad or despondent, all I need do is to walk along the camp street and take a look at some of my old Scandinavians. Their calm and earnest demeanor always makes me glad and proud. I ask for no greater honor than to point them out to some stranger, saying: ‘This is my old company.’
“Not these alone, however, but all of my countrymen whom I met in the army have a good name, and are considered most reliable and able soldiers.”
I shall now relate a couple of anecdotes from the siege of Vicksburg, which I did not mention in the letter to Hemlandet.
GRANT’S HEADQUARTERS.
Outside Gen. Logan’s tent stood a big magnolia tree. While laughing at Logan’s joke Gen. Stevenson picked up a little stick of wood and whittled on it with his penknife, in genuine Yankee fashion. Accidently he dropped his knife, and, while stooping down to pick it up, a fragment of a shell from the rebel batteries came and went two inches deep into the tree right where his head had been when he was whittling. He coolly remarked, “That piece of iron was not made for me.”
One day as I, in company with Lieut. Col. (afterward Gen.) C. C. Andrews, was visiting Gen. Grant outside of Vicksburg, a wagon drawn by six mules passed close by his headquarters. The driver, an old, rough-looking soldier, stopped, and asked the way to a certain regiment. Gen. Grant’s tent stood on a little elevation, at the foot of which were several fresh wagon tracks. A number of officers, including myself, were standing and sitting around the general outside the tent. Gen. Grant, who was dressed in a fatigue suit and slouched hat, without other marks of distinction than three small silver stars, which could scarcely be distinguished on his dusty blouse, went toward the driver and, with the most minute particulars, gave him directions how to drive. While he was talking, we observed that the driver showed signs of deep emotion, and finally he alighted from the mule, which he was riding, stretched out his arms, and, with tears in his eyes, exclaimed: “My God! I believe it is Gen. Grant! General, do you remember Tommy Donald? I was a soldier in your company during the Mexican war!” With touching kindness the great commander-in-chief now took both hands of the ragged soldier in his, and, like old friends who had not met for a long time, they rejoiced in remembering the companionship of fifteen years before.
ARMY WAGON.