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Updated: July 25, 2025
Th' la-ads he's tackled have more marked ca-ards in their pockets thin a preacher fr'm Mitchigan an' more bad money thin ye cud shake out iv th' coat-tail pockets iv a prosp'rous banker fr'm Injianny. He's been up again Gladstun an' Bisma-arck an' ol' what-ye-call-'im, th' Eyetalian, his name's got away from me, an' he's done thim all. "Well, business is bad. No wan will play with him.
He said that no one could look in my Southern Injianny face without seem' Secession, treason and nigger-lovin' wrote there in big letters. He could only ask the honorable court for mercy instid o' justice, and that I be shot instid o' hung, as I deserved.
The Deacon shuddered, for he had too much respect for shoulder-straps to think of resisting. Shorty looked up from his breakfast, scanned the newcomer, and said: "Look here. Bill Wiggins, you go back and take off that Captain's coat as quick as you kin, or I'll have you arrested for playin' officer. None o' you Maumee Muskrats kin play that little game on the 200th Injianny. We know you too well.
The fragrance of the food reached the Deacon's nostrils, and made his mouth water and fond anticipations rise as to the good it would do the boys. "I'll have that grub, and the boys shall have it," he determined, "or there'll be an Injianny Deacon pretty badly used up." The old man mounted into the seat, gathered up the rope lines, and chirruped to the horse to start.
Shorty promptly accepted, for he had the perennial hunger of convalescence, and his supper had been interrupted. "Going back to the army?" inquired the man, with his mouth full of chicken, and by way of opening up the conversation. "Um huh," said Shorty, nodding assent. "Where do you belong?" "200th Injianny Volunteer Infantry."
He set the heavy carpetsack down on the ground, to rest for a minute. "Gen. Rosecrans, it's all a plaguey lie," burst out Deacon Klegg. "I'm as loyal a man as there is in the State of Injianny. I voted for Abe Lincoln and Oliver P. Morton. I've come down here to visit my son, Josiah Klegg, jr., of the 200th Injianny Volunteers. You know him, General. He's one o' your officers. He's a Corporal.
"Gone to look for the regiment. Much they've gone to look for the regiment. They've gone to look out for their scalawag selves. When you see 'em agin, you'll know 'em, that's all." Little Pete Skidmore began to whimper. "Say, boys," continued the newcomer, "you'd better drop all idee of that 200th Injianny and come with me.
Yes, here goes: "The rose is red, the vilet's blue; ime 4 the Union, so are U." Shorty was so tickled over this happy conceit that he fairly hugged himself, and had to read it over several times to admire its beauty. But it left him too exhausted for any further mental labor than to close up with: "No moar at present, from yours til death. "Dan Elliott, "Co. Q, 200th injianny Volunteer Infantry."
Mind, I ain't makin' no allusions nor references, and I think the 200th Injianny is the honestest lot o' boys in the Army o' the Cumberland; but if I wanted to steal the devil's pitchfork right out o' his hand, I'd make a detail from the 200th Injianny to do the job, and I'd be sure o' gittin' the pitchfork. I'll trust you all when you're 10 feet away from me."
How could be better celebrated the Fourth of July than by the wholesale slaughter of the tyrants who drain the life-blood of freemen and patriots? Now, that's a sentiment that would be fine for your orator who is making a speech about this time to your folks in Injianny." By this time they were hungry again.
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