The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1896-09-02

when we asked him the trouble. "He.D
Oh course, meant the captain. who for
some unaccountable reason had taken a
strong dislike to the lowly drummer.
Things went from bad TO worsa
Dumpey was in the guard-house CON.
tinually-first for one thing and than
another, which, though trivial enouob
in their way, were rapidly building nm
bad reputation for him, which he did
not really deserve.
The end came when thew found him
drunk on guard The general court.
which tried him, found him guilty. and
sentenced him to be drummed ont of
the service. The colonel wrote to the
reviewing authority rather strongly in
MS 1avor, but Dumpey was doomed,
Nothing could save him, and the sen-
tence was duly confirmed.
Never did sun shine brighter, never
were SKIES bluer; never was nature
more generous than on that dreadful
May morning, almost thirty years ago.
we had all been to see Dumpey at the
guard-house the night before. We had
shaken hands with him, and carried
him such boyish gifts as we could to
assure him of our loyalty and friend
ship--and he, poor old boy, had turned
his face away from us and wept like a
child.
1t was the first and only time that 1
had ever seen a man drummed out of
the. service. can never again see
such shocking sight of mans in
humanity to man.
Almost thirty years ago-I was a
very young boy then, still 1 remember
that the sun was bright and that the
skies were blue; 1 remember that the
air was soft and balmy; 1 remember
that the flag, emblem of liberty and
equality, threw out the glory of it's stars
and stripes straight and strong to the
morning breeze; 1 remember that we
all stood huddled together, waiting
and-then it came.
First the drums and flies; then two
platoons of men fully armed and
equipped, their bayonets flashing and
sparkling in the sunlight, and between
them Dumpey, with head closely
cropped, and on his back board marked
Drunkard."
And still-the sun shone, the skies
were blue, and the flag tapped gaily
overhead.
On they came, the drums and flies
playing the Rogue's March.
Poor old soldier, poor old soldier,
Because he couldn't keep sober.
Our hearts were in our throats, but
we clenched our hands and held our
places like men.
There was no music in the march: it
was simply wailing and sobbing of
the drums-the drums to drum Dumpey
out of the service; Dumpey, their
champion, their hero, their king.
But on they came
Poor old soldier, poor old soldier
Just as they passed US we heard
some one ask:
"What makes him walk so queer?
He seems 10 be limping."
Every boy there could have told him
that it was the bullet he got at Mission
Ridge, which the doctors had never
been able to take out
And on they came
Tarrd and feathered and then drummed out
AT last they reached the sally port
Because he couldn't keep sober,
shrieked out the flies, and a moment
later Dumpey stood outside the fort, a
free man.
And then-this worthless outcast.
this drummed-out drunkard; this limp
ing, hating, wounded ex.soldier, who
had played mans part in the bitterest
war the world has ever known; this
drunken Dumpey, halted, quietly took
the board marked /" drunkard'' off from
his back, and, barring his close-cropped
head to the morning sun, locked up to-
ward the flag and bravely cried out:
"Three cheers for the stars and
stripes"
l have never forgotten it.-Lieuten-
ant Thomas H. Wilson, U. S. A., in
New York Sun.