it is used for nearly everything else than for prodding men.
in common with every other young man who enlisted to defend the glorious stars and stripes, si klegg, of the 200th ind., had a profound superstition concerning the bayonet. all the war literature he had ever read abounded in bloodcurdling descriptions of bayonet charges and hand-to-hand conflicts, in which bayonets were repeatedly thrust up to the shanks in the combatants' bodies just as he had put a pitch-fork into a bundle of hay. he had seen pictures of english regiments bristling with bayonets like a porcupine with quills, rushing toward french regiments which looked as prickly as a chestnut-bur, and in his ignorance he supposed that was the way fighting was done. occasionally he would have qualms at the thought of how little his system was suited to have cold steel thrust through it promiscuous-like, but he comforted himself with the supposition that he would probably get used to it in time—"soldiers get used to almost anything, you know."
when the 200th ind. drew its guns at indianapolis he examined all the strange accouterments with interest, but gave most to the triangular bit of steel which writers who have never seen a battle make so important a weapon in deciding contests.
it had milk, molasses, or even applejack, for si then was not a member of the independent order of good templars, of which society he is now an honored officer. nothing could be nicer, when he was on picket, to bring buttermilk in from the neighboring farm-house to his chum shorty, who stood post while he was gone.
si's chum, 'shorty' elliott 026
later in the service si learned the inestimable value of coffee to the soldier on the march. then he stript the cloth from his canteen, fastened the strand with bits of wire and made a fine coffee-pot of it. in the morning he would half fill it with the splendid coffee ihe government furnished, fill it up with water and hang it from a bush or a stake over the fire, while he went ahead with his other culinary preparations. by the time these were finished he would have at least a quart of magnificent coffee that the cook of the fifth avenue could not surpass, and which would last him until the regiment halted in the afternoon.
the bully of the 200th took it into his thick head one day to try to "run over" si. the latter had just filled his canteen, and the bully found that the momentum of three pints of water swung at arm's length by an angry boy was about equal to a mule's kick.
just as he was beginning to properly appreciate his canteen, he learned a sharp lesson, that comes to all of us, as to how much "cussedness" there can be in the simplest things when they happen to go wrong. he went out one day and got a canteen of nice sweet milk, which he and "shorty" elliott heartily enjoyed. he hung the canteen upon the ridge-pole of the tent, and thought no more about it until the next day, when he came in from drill, and found the tent filled with an odor so vile that it made him cough.
"why in thunder don't the colonel send out a detail to find and bury that dead mule? it'll pizen the hull camp."
he had been in service just long enough to believe that the colonel ought to look out for and attend to everything.
"'taint no dead mule," said shorty, whose nose had come close to the source of the odor. "it's this blamed canteen. what on earth have you been putting in it. si?"
"ha'int had nothin' in but that sweet milk yesterday."
"that's just what's the matter," said the orderly, who, having been in the three-months' service, knew all about war. he had come in to detail si and shorty to help unload quartermaster's stores. "you must always scald out your canteens when you've had milk in 'em. don't you remember how careful your mother is to scald her milk pans?"
after the company wagon had run over and hopelessly ruined the neat little frying-pan which si had brought from posey county, he was in despair as to how he should fry his meat and cook his "lobscouse." necessity is the mother of invention. he melted in two a canteen he picked up, and found its halves made two deep tin pans, very light and very handy. a split stick made a handle, and he had as good a frying-pan as the one he had lost, and much more convenient, for when done using the handle was thrown away, and the pan slipt into the haversack, where it lay snug and close, instead of clattering about as the frying-pan did when the regiment moved at the double-quick.
the other half of the canteen was useful to brown coffee, bake hoe-cake, and serve for toilet purposes.
one day on the atlanta campaign the regiment moved up in line to the top of a bald hill. as it rose above the crest it was saluted with a terrific volley, and saw that another crest across the narrow valley was occupied by at least a brigade of rebels.
"we'll stay right here, boys," said the plucky little colonel, who had only worn sergeant's stripes when the regiment crossed the ohio river. "we've preempted this bit of real estate, and we'll hold it against the whole southern confederacy. break for that fence there, boys, and every fellow come back with a couple of rails."
it seemed as if he hardly ceased speaking when the boys came running back with the rails which they laid down along the crest, and dropped flat behind them, began throwing the gravelly soil over them with their useful half-canteens. in vain the shower of rebel bullets struck and sang about them. not one could penetrate that little ridge of earth and rails, which in an hour grew into a strong rifle-pit against which the whole rebel brigade charged, only to sustain a bloody repulse.
the war would have lasted a good deal longer had it not been for the daily help of the ever-useful half-canteen.
