THE SERGEANT KINDLY GAVE HIM THE STEEL.
Squeezer was a good-enough horse outside of his stall, or away from a fence-post or the side of a house. The trouble with him was, that he would invariably catch the man detailed to curry him against the side of the stall, and the vicious beast would deliberately put the weight of his whole body against the man so caught, to try and crush his bones. The only satisfaction the old horse seemed to get out of the dirty trick was, in listening to the cries of pain the poor fellow so caught was obliged to give vent to.
The Sergeants in charge of the stables were up to Squeezer's tricks so well that they always carried a sharp-pointed saber-blade to the stable, which was the only thing, well struck in, that would make the old rascal let go his hold of a victim.
It was the custom to let the recruit get caught by this horse trick, and I, as the latest in our squad, suffered the penalty. Squeezer put his haunches up against my breast and forced me up against the board stall until the bones began to crack, when the Sergeant kindly gave him the steel, and he let go of me, but began to kick viciously at the Sergeant. I was hurt badly, and suffered severely from it for some days. I learned afterward that every man in our squad carried a saddler's awl as part of the outfit, and when Squeezer became too affectionate with the man to whose lot it fell to tackle him, he kept the awl in one hand and the brush in the other, and used them alternately.
It was one of the games of the men to lay for a chance to catch the old Sergeant near his heels, when they would give Squeezer an inch of the awl, and the heels would reach for the Sergeant in a style that took all the military dignity out of him.
For a few days our detachment was encamped in the roughest kind of barracks, located on Capitol Hill, near Old Capitol. We drew our rations of soft bread, but our meat was the regulation pickled pork, fished out of the original barrels on the spot. I recall now, with a good deal of surprise to myself, the truth that there ever was a time in Washington when I had to take my slice of raw pork on a slice of bread, standing in two inches of snow, warming up with a quart of black coffee drank from a tin cup.
I am at the present writing a resident of this same Capitol Hill, within gunshot of the Old Capitol Prison and this former camp-ground. We would consider it a great hardship to be deprived of any of the comforts and pleasures to be extracted from a residence in this beautiful city.
How few of those who now enjoy the blessings of this great Government ever think that all of these pleasures were made possible for the children by the willing sacrifices and hardships of their parents in 1861-65.
After many unsatisfactory days spent about the old barracks on the Hill, we were at length ordered into camp near Fort Albany, Virginia. This fort was located on the high ground just beyond the Long Bridge, close by Fort Corcoran, or between the Long Bridge and Arlington.
I was at heart greatly rejoiced to find myself once more in old Virginia, even if it were only over the Long Bridge and the Potomac River. Though yet in sight, I was out of Washington, and safely beyond the reach of the meddlesome War Department detectives, who had become so numerous and about as thoroughly despised as were the army insect pests. It does not speak so well for the shrewdness or effectiveness of Mr. Pinkerton's corps, that I am able to record the truthful fact that they had not, with all their vaunted facilities of telegraph and military and civil police connections, been able to locate me, or discover that I, who had been represented to the Secretary of War as a dangerous man, was freely circulating all over Washington City.