Patrick Finnegan had been studying socialism and told his friend, Barney O’Brien, that socialism was a good thing, both charitable and Christian, and if the people would adopt it all would be prosperous and happy. Barney says, “Pat, if ye had two homes, would ye give me one?” “To be sure I would,” says Pat. “Then if ye had two horses, would ye give me one?” “Then certainly I would,” says Pat. “Then if ye had two hogs would ye give me one?” “No. To hell with ye, Barney; ye know I’ve got thim.” “Well, that was what I was thinking, that ye would hold to your pigs with all the tenacity that a Vanderbilt would grip his railroads. It is aisy enough to give away what ye ain’t got; but if ye can’t practice what ye preach ye had as well shut up.” “Now that’s just like ye, Barney; ye would never make a good socialist. Ye would rob me entirely. You know I need me hogs; but I would not need but one home, and one horse would be all I could work and feed.” “Yes, Pat, and I guess if ye wait until ye get a home and a horse you’ll be a socialist a good while yet.” “To be sure I will, and if you ever have a home at all it will be when I have one to give you.” Barney: “Then I guess I had better hold my job and not depend on ye.” Pat: “Along with ye, Barney; it may be well that ye can always find a boss.”
Seven Days’ Fight Around Richmond.
Reminiscences of Dr. Alexander, of Charlotte, N. C., recall to me the scenes of those battle-fields of the Seven Days’ battles of McClellan, 1862, when we passed over the ground in June, 1864, on our way to the Chickahominy River. Many of the Federal dead had scarcely been buried at all, as the rank weeds over the naked bones and blue rotten uniforms showed, where groups of a score or more had been bunched in shallow graves and lightly covered.
“Out of the 2,700 soldiers furnished the Southern army by Mecklenburg, how few remain to tell of that fearful seven-days’ struggle. The weather had been intensely hot before the fighting began for several days. Many of our men were on the sick list. On the 25th inst. the long roll was sounded; our troops, the Thirty-seventh Regiment, was hastily formed in line. Confederate battle-flags were here first displayed; stretchers for bearing off the wounded were here first put in charge of the ambulance corps. Everything wore a death-like hue. John Bell, a member of my company, said he was not able for the march, was sick; I spoke to the surgeon, and told him I would take Bell’s word for anything. He said, “Leave him behind.” In a week he was dead. Another fellow asked me to intercede for him, that he was sick. I told him I knew Bell, but I could not vouch for him; when night came he deserted, and is living yet. This was as we were leaving camp at Brock Church, six miles north of Richmond. We camped near Meadow Bridge. On the 28th we moved slowly down the Chickahominy; got on the edge of the road to let a body of Yankee prisoners pass; one of our men asked them where they were going; an Irishman answered, ‘In faith, I am going to Richmond, where me wife has been telling me to go for the last two months, and how far is it yit?’
“Late in the afternoon we heard heavy cannonading in our front, and we pushed forward rapidly, bearing to the left, as we thought, to charge a battery. Shells were passing through our line, killing seven men in one company; when we got in thirty steps of the battery we were ordered to lay down, to support the battery. The artillery duel ceased about 8 o’clock, and remained quiet until 9 o’clock next morning, when it broke loose with a vengeance and was quickly over. General Jackson had got in McClellan’s rear. Here the sun was terribly hot as we lay on the southern slope of the hillside, with nothing to protect us from the vertical rays of the sun. We went from here to Mechanicsville, where the heavy fighting was done the evening before. Here the Yankee dead had not been moved, and the swarms of horse-flies that arose from the dead carcasses rendered it necessary for each man to hold one hand over his mouth and nose. It is impossible to describe the scene as it was. In the afternoon of the 27th we reached Gains’ Mill; this battle opened about 3 p. m. It was terrific. North Carolina’s loss was very great. It was here that Colonel Campbell was killed. Capt. Billy Kerr was desperately wounded. Many private soldiers and company officers from Mecklenburg were killed and wounded. A rare sight I witnessed. Some man, I never knew who he was, was riding back and forth in front of our firing line, talking to the men, telling them to aim low, don’t shoot too high; he was bareheaded, wounded in the neck; no coat on, and was riding a gray horse; the blood had run down from his neck to his gray horse; he appeared cool and determined. A large and spotted hound appeared at the same time, running and barking as heavy limbs were cut off by shells, licking the blood from the dead and wounded. I don’t know what became of the dog or the man on horseback.
“When the battle was over, I was appointed to the medical department and assigned to the Thirty-seventh Regiment. We went next to the bloody field of Frazier’s farm. Here our Colonel, Charles C. Lee, was killed; he was as gallant an officer as ever trod the battle-fields of Virginia; he was as brave as a lion and gentle as a lamb, and thought it not inconsistent with his profession as a soldier, to acknowledge Jesus Christ as the Captain of his salvation.
“The next move was to overtake McClelland’s army, which was halted at Malvern Hill. Here General McGruder was in front, and his orders were to feel what position the enemy occupied. It was said at the time that McGruder was so pleased with the position of his artillery that he at once ‘let slip the dogs of war.’ This proved the bloodiest battle of the war for the time it lasted. From personal observation I can testify that there was no break in the roar of musketry for five hours. The gunboats on the James River threw large shells at random, most of which burst over their own troops. The battle closed at 10 o’clock at night. Immediately the Yankee army sought the shelter of their gunboats. It took us two days to get the wounded all off to Richmond. One peculiar case of gun-shot wound I will mention. A soldier by the name of Rankin, Company H, Thirty-seventh Regiment, shot in the base of the skull of the medulla oblongatta, did not prevent him from walking about; was examined by a dozen surgeons, but were unable to trace or locate the bullet, when Dr. Campbell, of the Seventh Regiment, called me as the youngest surgeon to try my hand. In a jest I placed my hand on his forehead and told him to open his mouth; at once I saw a swelling in the roof of his mouth; it was hard and smooth. I made a slit with a scalpel, and showed a minnie ball to the astonished surgeons. How the ball got there without killing him has always been a mystery.
“President Davis spent a night with us; he was in fine spirits, but seemed deeply touched at the sight of so much suffering. We passed by the battle-ground two days after the battle; the field was rolling; our dead were all buried; it looked like a thousand-acre field of potato hills. The enemy were still lying where they fell. They must have fought with great desperation, as their line of battle was plainly to be seen by about every third man being killed. This line could be traced one mile and a half.
“After waiting a few days to rest, and the enemy showing no disposition to renew the fight, our men, from privates to general officers, began a general hunt for them pesky little fellows that are not known in polite circles. I have seen five hundred men have their shirts off at one time, looking for—what they were sure to find. After this campaign we had a great deal of typhoid fever; the hospitals being full of wounded, the most of the cases were treated in camp, more successfully than they would have been in Richmond hospitals. Lest we forget.”