The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1884-06-14
AN ARMY FUNERAL.
How Soldiers Were Laid at Rest in the Days
of the War.

How Soldiers Were Laid at Rest in the Days
of the War.
r. j. Burdette, in Brooklyn Eagle
Some of the boys will remember the day we
buried Billy Taylor, private G company, Forty
seventh illinois Infantry. l remember it, be
cause it the first time ever marched in
military funeral and was only d boy. 1 hadn't
seen my nineteenth year then, and l wasn't
much taller than the musket carried. Billy
wasn't killed in battle He had passed through
dozen fights; every time the Forty-seventh
went in, he was close by the colors, and shot or
bullet never touched him, but the god of war de-
manded more lives than the rifle and cannon
could pile upon his reeking affairs, and so death,
wearying may be- of the red carnage of
the field, often came to our tents to
select victim for the sacrifice. 50
Billy was excused from duty one day. and
sat about in the tent, and tried to shake off the
sickness that came creeping over him, and had
time to write part of letter. and then he
planned what he would do tomorrow And the
next day he was excused again, and stayed in
his bunk, but it was hard, and he could feel the
knots in the board under the blanket, and it
made him restless and he thought if he didn't
! feel better to-morrow-but he knew he would
he would go to the regimental hospital. And
the next day he was better; so much better that
he was pronounced we'll and his name was
stricken from the sick list. 1t was also stricken
from the company roll and he was marked off
duty forever. Six men were detailed for pail
bearers, a corporal and eight men for escort and
| following marched the men and officers of the
company, in the inverse order of their rank
| Somehow the sunshine seemed dim and misty
as the muftled drums spoke mournfuly and our
slow steps seemed to be marked off by heart
breaking sobs in distant home away up in the
| faraway Northland The wailing flies breathed
the pathetic strains of '"rhe Land O the Leal'
until the air seemed filled with tears:
There's nae sorrow there, Jean:
| There's neither cauld nor care, Jean,
The day is ever fair
In the land o the lea
| We could hear the sweet voices of women,
| tremulous, grief stricken, in the mourning flies
| Women! Since he kissed mother sister and
| sweetheart goodbye in the Prairie State he had
not heard woman'S voice syllable his name.
| His last dying looks were bent upon pronzed,
bearded faces; and the kind hands that dressed
! him for the funeral march were hard, caloused
| with toll and war and scented only with the
cartridges they had last handled. The
voice of woman would have sounded
| to him like the blessing of God
far away from home; to die and know that at
| that moment, ignorant of his passing, the dear
| est of earth were joyous singing laughing may
be; to die and know that the days would creep
on into the weeks, and the weeks drag on into
months before they, whose names were CULVER
ing on his loving praying lips, would know it;
to die and know they would be still writing let
ters to him when his eyes would be closed and
the heart that longed and loved would be sted
forever 1t is a sad, sad thing to bury a soldier.
But sorrows sell wears past JEAN
And joys comm fast, jean
The joy that's aye to last Jean,
In the land o the leal.
And they-what would be the measure of their
sorrow in the stricken home His dying kiss
his last good-by the loving look in the closing
eyes, the peace that death would print upon his
face-they would never see it. they would never
hear it, they could never know it, What wonder
our soldiers hearts We're heavy as the burden on
the bier, and our tears were faster than our
measured steps! And the mournful drums in
their sad monotone pattering like tears upon
coffin lid Sobbed on like the murmurous rushing
of a troubled stream hushng the shrill grief of
the complaining flies, softening their cries into
the plaintive moaning of a sorrow that has wept
its violence away, and mournS with the whispers
of the plaintive nght-wind
HALT and how softly the corporal voiced his
orders. "Rest on-arms" The chaplain is read
ing something from the only book men read at
that time:
II am the resurrection and the life he that
believeth in Me- though he dead yet shall
he live. And whatsoever believetn in Me shall
never die"
With broken voice he prays above tine dead,
and our hearts echo his prayer, as they seem to
lie in the rude coffin with our comrade
Attention! Shoulder-arms! Load at will
fire."
How the ringing voll6ys over the grave, max
ng thousand discordant echoes i'll the woods
bout us. break in abruptly and harshly on our
/ grief.
by platoon, right wheel--march Column,
| forward, guide left, quick-march'
Cheerily the flies sing out the dancing meas
ures of Garry Owen merrily rattle the close
strung, spirited and inspiring drums, with pieces
at a ''right-shoulder," gaily back to the camp we
marched.
What! we have followed the dead soldier, and
stood in tears by his lonely grave-we have
been away from camp nearly two hours the
world hasn't slipped cog; it hasn't missed a
| single heart beat; it hasn't stood still second
The second relief had just gone on when we
went out, and there goes the third marching out
| now.
What are those drums for! Fall in for dress
parade!