67. A Turkey for a Bedfellow
By CORPORAL JAMES KENDALL HOSMER (1863)
So we live and listen and wait. I am reduced now to about the last stage. My poor blouse grows raggeder. My boots, as boys say, are hungry in many places. I have only
one shirt; and that has shrunk about the neck., until buttons and buttonholes are
irretrievably divorced, and cannot be forced to meet. Washingdays, if I were anywhere else, I should have to lie abed until the washer-woman brought home the shirt. Now
I cannot lie abed, for two reasons : first, I am washer-woman myself; second, the bed is only bed at night. By daytime, it is parlor-floor, divan, dining-table, and library,
and therefore taken up. I button up in my blouse, therefore; and can so fix myself, and so brass matters through, that you would hardly suspect, unless you looked sharp,
what a whited sepulchre it was that stood before you. I have long been without a cup. Somebody stole mine long ago; and I, unfortunate for me, am deterred, by the relic
of a moral scruple which still lingers in my breast, from stealing somebody else's in return. My plate is the original Camp-Miller tin plate, worn down now to the iron. I
have leaned and lain and stood on it, until it looks as if it were in the habit of being used in the exhibitions of some strong man, who rolled it up and unrolled it to show the
strength of his fingers. There is a big crack down the side; and, soup-days, there is a great rivalry between that crack and my mouth,—the point of strife being, which shall
swallow most of the soup; the crack generally getting the best of it.
Rations pall now-a-days. The thought of soft bread is an oasis in the memory. Instead of that, our wearied molars know only hardtack, and hard salt beef and pork. We
pine for simple fruits and vegetables. The other day, however, I received a gift. An easy-conscienced friend of mine brought in a vast amount of provender from a foraging
expedition, and bestowed upon me a superb turkey,—the biggest turkey I ever saw; probably the grandfather
of his whole race. His neck and breast were decorated with a vast number of red and purple tassels and trimmings. He was very fat, moreover; so that he looked like an
apoplectic sultan. I carried him home with toil and sweat; but what to do with him for the night ! If he had been left outside, he would certainly have been stolen: so the
only way was to make a bedfellow of him. Occasionally he woke up and "gobbled; "and I feared all night long the peck of his bill and the impact of his spurs. In the
morning, we immolated him with appropriate ceremonies. The chaplain's coal-hod, the best thing in camp to make a soup in, was in use; but I found a kettle, and presided
over the preparation of an immense and savory stew, the memory whereof will ever steam up to me from the past with grateful sweetness.
