I have heard men, during recent years, deride eulogistic references to our country’s flag as sentimental nonsense. If any of you should hear such talk, think of these young heroes, who thought the flag was worth far more than their own lives; who so loved it and reverenced it that they cheerfully died for it; and let their devotion, their sentiment, their sacrifice, be a mute but unanswerable protest against those who deny the existence of such a thing as disinterested patriotism. And when you think of the flag, the brave old flag, the flag that means everything worth having in this country; the flag that is at once the beauty and the glory of our land; the “Old Flag” that is always new, and bright, and gracious, and inspiring; the flag that, floating against the sky, is not only the most beautiful thing a true American will ever see, but the most thrilling and sacred sentiment that warms his heart—when you think of this glorious old flag,
“Think of the strong, heroic souls,
Who hailed it as their pride.
And with their faint and anguished eyes,
Lifted in dreadful agonies,
Saw it between them and the skies,
Blessed it, and, blessing, died.”
—During the historic march of General Sherman from Atlanta to the sea, a new term suddenly achieved notoriety and popularity, and it came, after awhile, to be applied indiscriminately and wrongfully to all his soldiers, who were spoken of as “Sherman’s bummers.” In fact, the “bummer” was a character in the Western armies long before the march to the sea began. The name only was a result of that campaign. The army “bummer” was a genuine product of the Western armies. The field of their operations was so vast, their marches so long, their movements so swift, that in time these characteristics of the whole body stimulated and exaggerated the natural restlessness and adventurous spirit of many of the men composing it, and thus the army “bummer” was developed. The term should not be confounded. The army “bummer” was not akin, even remotely, to the lazy, blear-eyed, bloated, worthless vagabond who, in civil life, is designated by this term. The army variety of the genus “bummer” was simply a restless, adventurous, investigating, daring forager; a scout not detailed for scouting duty; an independent exploring engineer, who had a natural instinct for topography and poultry, and an unerring nose for roads, by-paths, and Confederate pork and mutton. He looked with contempt on camp-guards, and regarded picket-lines with disdain. He could, without serious difficulty, make his way through an unknown country swarming with his deadly enemies. Answering “here” to his name at evening roll-call, and evading, with subtle skill, the vigilance of the sentries, he would travel ten or fifteen miles, on the darkest nights, through woods and fields he had never before seen, and, bringing back a full supply of the best the country afforded for his mess, would answer “here” at roll-call in the morning, and be ready for a twenty-mile march that day. He could accomplish the feat—impossible in times of peace—of carrying away, without being stung, a bee-hive loaded with honey and populated by a full swarm of angry bees. He was ubiquitous. In camp or with the column one moment, he was heard of an hour later, miles away, calmly inspecting a smoke-house or cellar, and retailing the most absurd inventions of his exuberant fancy to the startled inhabitants. Possessing marvelous powers of endurance, fruitful in expedients, always cool, courageous and alert, the army “bummer” was at once an enigma and a phenomenon. How he did what he did, was not capable of explanation; that he did it all was wonderful.
To this class or type of soldiers belonged James H. English, a private soldier, from the date of his enlistment until the day of his death, in Company I. Tall and supple, with not an ounce of superfluous flesh; restless under restraints; having the instincts of an explorer allied with the reckless audacity of an adventurer, “Jim” English was a character. He was born in Pike county, Missouri, a region famous for its odd specimens of humanity; was a brickmaker by trade, and twenty-four years of age. The regimental roster says he enlisted December 11th, 1861, and was present for duty until January 1st, 1864, when he reënlisted as a veteran, and was then present for duty until December 16th, 1864, when he was killed in battle at Nashville.
Poor, restless, wandering, good-hearted, illiterate “Jim;” always “present for duty”—that was all. Always asking to go, and going whether he got permission or not. Always keeping on good terms at regimental headquarters so as to shield himself from the wrath of his Captain if the latter discovered his nocturnal absences from camp. Appointing himself forager for the field and staff, his voluntary duty was discharged with zealous faithfulness and tenacity. Queer old “Jim”—I should have gone hungry many a time if his daring and skill as a forager had not been exerted in my behalf. Many were the faults of this odd, slouching, observant, predatory, old-young fellow, but he had many good qualities also, not the least of which were his shy friendliness and his quiet good-nature. In that other and better land I hope he is not only “present for duty,” as he always was on this earth, but that he is serene and content, as he never was.