His office? Any old place he can plant his
instruments, many times a tent with a cracker box for a table; a chair
would be an unheard-of luxury. His pay? Thirteen big round American
dollars per month. His rank and title? Hold your breath while I tell
you. Private, United States Army. Great, isn't it? Many times a detail
to one of the frontier points means farewell to your friends as long as
the tour lasts.
When I left the railroad business I journeyed out westward to Fort
Hayes, Kansas, and held up my right hand and swore all manner of oaths
to support the Constitution of the United States; obey the orders of the
President of the United States and all superior officers; to accept the
pay and allowances as made by a generous (God save the word) Congress
for the period of five years. Thus did I become a soldier and a "dough
boy" because I went to the infantry arm of the service. I've stuck to
the business ever since.
I supposed when I went into the army that my connection with wires and
telegraph instruments was entirely finished. I had worked at the
business long and faithfully and was in a state of mind that I thought I
had had enough.
Pages:
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434