Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1885-04-04
CHARLEYS FIDDLE,


1t is small matter to what army, North
or South, this drummer boy belonged
Young he was, his fair skin tanned by the
grim old sun, his blue eyes shining cut
like very forget-me-nots, in the dull, dark
surroundings They said Of him in camp
that he was a hoy, and surely they greeted
him i'll their rough way like child Sun
burnt men called hun Charley" talked
with him; spoke of scenes far away, where
those whom these sunburnt men loved
more than anything else in the world
lived; and Charley listened to them, and
heard what was never told to older less
m-ophisticated companions, for somehow
his young face and light, cheerful laugh
appealed TO these men, and made them
cOntide in him There was even Il rumor
that Sandy Green. the tall, awkward
widoMer from the frontier, had told
Charley about his own young days, and
made the hoy's blue eyes brim over at
some little touch OF sentiment,
You may, perhaps, say there is no time,
no place for sentiment among big, brawny
men, prepared for and experienced in war.
1t was not so Around camp-fres, in
places at night when the tramp, tramp,
tramp of the sentry seems ghostly, full Of
dire warning, there are tales OF love, and
sorrow, and loss, and hope remembered
and told to listening ears, that hear these
fainte-t whispers as greedily as do the
awful, death-deliyering sound Of cannon or
soft whistle Of the rife ball Thus was
Charley, the drummer-boy, cyelopedia
Of all the gentler thoughts Of the soldiers
about him.
Often, in the dusk Of evening, when the
men were lettering about the camp, and
the kindly stars were peeping family out
above the white tents, there would come 4
little wailing sound on the breeze, and the
listeners would stop in their game Of cards,
or their wild talk, smile, maybe. little
and say, That's Charleys fiddle p
And did any one take the trouble to
look for the boy, be might be seen perched
upon ledge Of rock, or sitting fat on the
ground. his chin pressed down, and his
bow in hi hand, scraping dolefully out Of
his shabby violin ali the old, old tunes he
remembered and some of the new ones
made for the war, and even some silly,
lovelo.n ditty which had come by deyi-
Gus way and fearful mischance into camp
SO, here among the purple shadows, when
the fire on the outpost shimmercd and
there was q strange quiet around while
the crickets chirped, Charley would play
the tunes of peace and happiness, the same
Us, miles away. they were being played and
and sung by laughing, careless people in
the crowded cities, filed with rumoTs Of
war, not understood, but appreciated.
But Charley had never been in an en-
gagenent as yet, and the men said, Don't
be 50 anxious, boy; it'll come soon
enough" And il did come soon enough
for him.
Charley wrote to his aunt that camp
life was just the thing Tor him, only it was
so monotonous. He also told the boys
that his aunt was the only relative he had !
m the world and that she was queer old !
woman, strong of will and temper, and |
that she was mortal angry with him |
for going away from her-for somhow or |
other, he guessed she sort O liked him"
That was all he told them, and they got |
joke up about aunt Teddy" and often !
spoke of her 10 Charley, and told him, |
when they saw him busy writing, to be sure
to send much Of their love to her.
" You don't know her, said Charley, cor !
you wouldn't make 50 light Of it. Why, |
she could take any Of you single-handed, |
and you'd never know what hurt you" |
And so he wrote often to her.
But Charley's fiddle Wen, It seemed /
a part Of him. He loved it. lie loved |
the miserable little tunes he could play on
il. He loved to sit down anywhere and at I
any time, and strike up one of those little !
tunes and play, and play, and play, ill il |
was 4 wonder how much endurance catgut |
has, not to mention human fingers and |
patience. He would pat his fiddle almost !
Us though ii were a little child, and his !
blue eyes would fash as his hands swept |
over the strings. And the time went on,
and in the intervals Of Charley's drum
taps his fiddle took it up.
The day came when there were prepare
lions for battle going on. The enemy
We're surrounding them, and Charley WIS I
glad bat quiet.
There was less time for fun IN camp now,
and the picket duty was not sentimental
any more-except that i was tragic. Two
men had been picked off by scouts, and the
grim faces Of the boys looked like death
when they heard it.
Yet one pleasant, cool night, while the
long white streets Of camp glisten6d in the
moonlight, and it was not We; time for the
men to turn in, Charley was seen by Sandy
Green busily writing letter On his drum
head.
"For Aunt Teddy, Charley 2o asked
Sandy Green. And the boy nodded and
laughed.
Then the old man stood there long
time and watched him. He saw the
pleasant, brown face with the blue ewes
bent over the writing-and he was a very
rough man, mind you-a tall, ungainly.
red-haired backwoodsman, older than
middle life, too and one to whom troubled
was no account, because it must be sur
And he stood there in the
early moonlight, watching the drummer
boy writing a letter to an old woman.
Charley looked up when he had I'm
lshed Il
"Ho, Sandy! you here yet" slid he.
Then he folded the letter and directed il.
SANDY, III give it to you to see posted fer