Weekly Trinity journal., 1866-04-07
From Besd7e's AoatAly.l
0Our Mess.n

tainly have to lay to its charge, and that is bat
with its adoption into our service "our mess -
virtually became thing of the past. If any
where it still existed during the latter two years
and more of the war, it was only among certain
of the officers, or else at posts toward the rear,
where the tame and little honored requirements
of garrison routine were better served by contin-
uing the use of the .s Sibley" or the bell tent
But in almost every town and hamlet of the
North. at least you may readily find some veter-
an of the earlier years of the war, who still re-
members "our mess" and with an ever new
delight loves to dwell upon its thousand reminis-
| cences.
And, by the way, the old soldier who does not
kindle and sparkle ont into genuine, though it
may be repressed, enthusiasm, when you talk
with him of his army eyperience--his privations
and suferngs, his marches, battles, and tri-
umphs-is not q true man. He has in his being
few OF the fibres such as God uses to make souls
out of. Depend upon it, such man is not to be
trusted he is q fit for treasons, stratagems and
spoiIs." Happily. one very rarely meets with so
unnatural phenomenon. Almost without ex-
cep,ion, every man and STRIPPING who has worn
| the army blue is proud of his military career
When you touch upon it, he shows spontaniety
of hcartiness that is really inyigorating. Uncon-
scously, ones faith in human nature is built up
and strengthened thereby, and sincerity seems
virtue more easily believed in. Every one has
remarked in some notable specimens OF the
stupid and inert volunteer, that when they come
| home from the war, rich in new and wide
range of experience, they hardly ever seem TO be
without proud realization, to some extent, Of
what that work is which they have helped to ac-
complsh. Though ily-defned, perhaps, there
is in their minds some positive conception of the
truths that the grandest events whereof the world
has been the witness since that one unapproach-
ably awful hour on Calvary, have fallen to the
lot of our land in this our own day, and that
! IL t,a,a Ioz IL
portant actors.
For the old soldier, our mess is the focus
toward which converge host of varied memo
ries. Quaint, and wonderful in diversity
the associations recalled by that name, yet ten
derly regarded, every one. 1t is the same in
deed, with all army experience, as you, reader,
will bear me witness, if any such experience is
your rich possession. Through every part of it
there is strange bringing together and constant
interplay of the extremes of human emotion
Upon the same page of memory's record you nnd
the pathetic and the ludicrous, the mirthful and
the sad, the alterations of desperation and tri
umph The roar of battle browns the echoes of
the convivial song, and the exultant shouts of
victory is answered by the wailing refrain of the
dirge of death. 1t was the severest privation
which called forth the best bon mot. As appe
tite sharpened where rations gave out wit grew
keen well. The hardest march was enlivened
with the lightest song and the careless jest 1t
was in the hottest of the fight, when hundred
fearful deaths hurtlng every side of
you, that something occurred-a commanders
taur pas, comrades bunder, the dry witticism
or the audacious defiance Of danger by either,
or even predicament of your own--which
struck you even then as irresistibly comical, and
at which to this day you laugh aloud as often as
its recollection is brought up.
But the "reminiscences of "our mess " are
those which touch you most deeply. You re-
member when your comrade burnt the beans, or
upset the kettle, fragrant and steeming with
your choicest made soup; and the righteous in
dignation also which the whole mess visited upon
the head of the unlucky offender. You think of
it now with softened, regretful feeling, and
charge yourself as with guilt You fain would
expate if it were only possible. 1t was but
month two later that the poor fellow was
struck down at your very side, bespatterng your
uniform with his warm life-blood as he fell
Words forgotten of hot impulse-bitter passions
ate words perhaps-ec!io back from the past
with sad, reproachful clearness. You sigh when
you think of the time when he on whom they
fell was reported mssng-wounded and pris
oner, and your mess learned to count him no
longer one of them. Then you comfort yourself
with the thought that he true soul, and un
derstood you, after all. That was a merry eve
ming for your mess when the teamster or the
suter brought one of your number his long
looked-fCr box from home crammed with tooth
some dcicacies, and an abundant supply of
warm, substantial winter-clothng, wrought with
loving care and most excellently well by the dear
ones around the old freside. Tucked away
among the folds of of those garments ap-
peared dainty little oval piciure-case. How
jealousy the boy priced that likeness! Only the
next week came the battle. In the DIM spec
trail moonlight, after the fight was over, you
made search for one of your mess-so you ex-
planned it to the staff-ofcer who had demanded TO
know the nature Of your business near the
picket-lne--who had been missing since your
brigade made that grand charge in the morning;
that first terrible charge which failed, because
impossibities must fail At last you found him.
Dead He was lying with his face upturned to-
ward the cold heaven, and the night-dew
settling upon it. Pale, very pale, yet very
natural you had seen him asleep looking just
so, hundred times. He had died calmly-so
calmly that you thought scarcely a muscle could
have moved after he fell. This was that part of
the field where the enemy had given way last of
all. Over and around his stiffening corpse their
gray hordes had swarmed until after sundown.
The new boots, one of his usefullest gifts from
home, were stripped from his naked feet. Every
pocket had been rined, and there, almost touch
ing his white cheek, lay that miniature, crushed
and broken into shapeless fragments by the butt
of rebel musket. You remember it all as
though it were but yesterday. Time has temper
ed your grief, of course, but the anguish of that
moment and your fierce craving for vengeance
you never can forget. There is bitterness in
your heart still, when you think of it. You can
not repress it, and would not if you could.
believe the fellowship begotten of army asso-
citation scarcely has its counterpart in any other
of tie relations of life. 1t is stronger than a
three-fold cord that not be broken Your
comrade n battle, your habitual file-leader, your
next-band man in the ranks, and most Of all.
your messmate and blanket-fellow is your friend
for life. The feelings you cherish for him some
how differ from those you have toward any one
else. Partnership in danger, privation and toll,
communion in sorrows, sufferings and triumphs.
have inseparably knit together your two souls.
Diversely as your paths may now be leading,
you both love to go back to the time when they
were one, and your lives had all things in com
mon. In this bond of sympathy there is a
strength and continuity that the common friend
| ships of civil life know nothing of. We this
manifested daily in a score of different ways
Scarcely any other bond but this could possibly
make you put up with the assurance Of that
wreck of humanity who accosts you as an =" old
-th Regiment boy" and familiarly asks for
your own and famiiy's health, day after day, as
often as you chance to encounter bin. There is
always real heart in the simplest act of recogni-