The Camp-life of the Third Regiment

by Robert Thomas Kerlin

After this the boys are free. Soon their tents, viewed from headquarters, will present a diversified and interesting scene. Three hundred white canvas houses, dimly lit within by tallow candles, the mess fires glowing underneath their arbors beyond, white-aproned cooks moving about them, and everywhere groups of boys engaged in all manner of amusement in the several company lanes—this is the picture—a sort of Midway Plaisance.

We shall place some of these scenes before you upon the stage. There will be no order or formality, but a jolly, free-for-all. Everybody knows, however, who can entertain and what everybody can do, though the amount and variety of artistic talent among these thousand boys is something surprising. We shall first have a mandolin and guitar duet, and this will bring a small group together. B—— B—— will then be called for, and he will increase the crowd. Taking the guitar in hand he will sing some comic darky songs in his inimitable way. "The Warmest Baby in the Bunch" will be called for, then a half dozen others all at once. The medley of titles of popular songs will take the crowd best. C—— will then do some whistling. You will think a mocking bird is in camp. Such chirping, warbling and piping you will say you never heard, except, possibly, from thrushes, robins and mocking birds. Then D—— will be called for. D—— is an Irishman, a true son of Erin. He has been with Barnum as a clown, and now has chosen the army for its freer life. D—— is a splendid fellow. I count him as one of my best friends. Our acquaintance came about in this way:

One evening at Jefferson Barracks, before many of the boys in his company came to recognize me, dressed as I was in citizen's clothes, I joined a promiscuous crowd in their lane where they were having an impromptu entertainment. "The Girl I Left Behind Me," "The Old Oaken Bucket," and other songs that appeal tenderly to the universal heart, had been sung, and that, too, remarkably well. D—— was called for. He placed one foot upon a pine box lying in the center of the circle and started out upon a song that for its pathos touched each heart. In fact, D—— was in a pathetic way that evening. What was our astonishment and chagrin when D—— turned about fierce as a jungle cat, and began swearing like a mule driver. What had happened to evoke such wrath and malediction? A half mile away some boys were greeting the 4th, just then arriving, with vociferous cheering; near by some boys of a neighboring company were thrumming quietly upon a guitar and a mandolin. D—— explained, mainly in words which not even Kipling was ever realistic enough to string together, that he never could begin doing anything without those "curs" in the neighboring company starting up some noise. D—— was not in the rest of the evening's performance. No amount of persuasion could induce him to proceed. D—— was really not in a happy mood. And though you could not consider his resentment as at all just, anybody would have sympathized with him and have tried to reason away his delusion. But in vain. A few days after I saw D—— by daylight; he recognized me and we had a pleasant little chat. He was all right. Again I saw him, and he had a patch on his face. The "farm house," just outside the reservation, had got the best of D——. Still he and the chaplain are good friends, for D—— has a good heart.

So D—— comes upon the stage and sings, making some fine local hits. Now his song will make you weep, because you can't laugh any more, then another will make you cry for the world of pathos in it, and, as you must think, in his heart, too. If you have a heart yourself to appreciate and sympathize with every brother man you will feel, deep down in it like saying, "God bless you, D——, and give you joy."

Then H——, tall, gaunt, sallow and dry, will recite "St. Peter at the Gate;" S—— will render "The Picture on the Barroom Floor;" N—— will perform on the flute; a half-dozen couples will give a cake-walk, the ladies being distinguished by a handkerchief tied over the head and a poncho around the waist, and better walking you must admit you never saw. Then regretfully we hear the bugle sound tattoo; in fifteen minutes "quarters" will sound, and, in yet another quarter of an hour, "taps."

Some sacred songs are now called for. The chaplain has been present at all the performance, and his interest and delight have been unfeigned. It may be some boy has let slip a word he wouldn't have spoken if the light had been bright, revealing the chaplain.

It may be a hot drop of tallow has fallen upon the hand of some fellow and burnt it while he was intently listening to a song; then he may have spoken hastily. He afterward comes and asks the chaplain's pardon. The whole affair—the various performances and the conduct of the boys, courteous, free and jolly, has been gratifying to the chaplain, and he tells them so, adding a word of encouragement and of counsel. All the boys now want to sing the favorite song of the camp. We, perhaps, have sung "Rock of Ages," "Yield Not to Temptation," and other old familiar hymns, for they like these best. But now they want to sing, "Nearer My God to Thee," which, because it is best of all, we have put off to the last. Then, with a brief prayer, it may be, for God's blessing upon the soldier boys, and for His protection and guidance, the chaplain dismisses them, while, with heads bowed in reverence, under the stars, heaven's solemn peace seems to have descended upon them.

Then the most beautiful of all the bugle calls sounds out into the stillness of the night. It is "taps." How melodiously it invites to sweet and peaceful rest. The words but feebly suggest the mellow notes of the bugle:

Love, good night; must thou go,

When the day and the night need thee so?