With the Rank and File

by Thomas J. Ford

"Well, how could I prevent her talking? I didn't know what she was going to say; but I'll tell you, Charley, I am mighty glad I didn't get that kick."

We were going into camp one evening, and in passing by a farm-house our Chaplain noticed a lot of nice chickens. He called his servant—Sandy was his name for short. "Sandy, here is a quarter, go over there to that house and buy a chicken; we will have a chicken for supper. If they don't want to sell you any of their chickens don't you gobble any; don't you steal any of their chickens, Sandy."

The Chaplain rode away a short distance and called after Sandy, saying, "Now, Sandy, be sure and have a chicken for supper." It is needless to say Sandy got the chicken and the quarter, too.

This Chaplain resigned. The marching and camping out were too severe on his delicate constitution. He was not a very rugged man. Our next chaplain was a drafted man, a wealthy farmer, one of the first men that had the thoroughbred short-horn cattle imported to this state from England. He created an influence over James T. Lewis, then Governor of Wisconsin, and received from the Governor a commission as Chaplain of the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin. The boys did not appreciate this drafted man as a chaplain, but rather took it as an offense to have a drafted man sent down South to preach to them when he should have been sent with a musket. I will say right here that this man did no more good for the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin than Billy Bray, the jackass who to this day stands on the list of drafted men as forming one of the quota of Maryland. The boys became determined to rout him by scaring him and making him think that they might do him bodily harm. We had a flag pole. We hoisted the flag every day and took it down at night. One morning the Chaplain got up after a very pleasant night's sleep, as he told me when he came to my tent, seemingly under great excitement, telling me that there were burglars in his tent last night, and he never knew it until he awoke in the morning, and found his chair, his table, little writing desk and sheet iron heating stove, pipe and all, had been taken from his tent. Being intimately acquainted with me, having known me since I was a little boy, he asked me if I would go with him in search of his stolen furniture. I did. We went up and down every company street, waking them up and inquiring as we went along, but to no avail. No information whatever could we get of the stolen furniture. We gave up the search and came back by regimental headquarters. In passing by the flag pole—it was early in the morning and the flag hadn't been hoisted yet—I happened to look up, and lo! what was there?

"My God, Chaplain, look. What's on top of that pole? Look at your furniture up there."

He looked up and cried out in solemn and fervent prayer, with hands extended upwards, "Thanks be to God on high that it ain't myself that is hanging up there this morning."

There were no arrests made. The Chaplain sent in his resignation. It was accepted.

This Chaplain introduced prayer meeting in Company D's tent one night. We had fire-places in the tents, with chimneys built of mud and sticks on the outside. You could reach your hand to the top of the chimney from the ground. John Mahan was stretched on his bunk; Andy O'Neil had one leg of his pants off, sewing a rip; he had a very long thread in the needle. The Chaplain knelt down close by Andy and asked Mahan if he would not join in prayer. Mahan said he was tired and wanted rest.

"And don't you want me to pray for you?" asked the Chaplain.

"Oh, yes, pray for me all you have a mind to," said Mahan.