The conductor passed around, and handed me
a ticket with these words on it:
"If you wish to travel with ease,
Keep this ticket in sight, if you please;
And if you wish to take a nap,
Just stick this in your hat or cap."
This was the poetry, reader, that was upon the ticket. The conductor
called around every now and then, especially if you were asleep, to look
at your ticket, and every now and then a captain and a detail of three
soldiers would want to look at your furlough. I thought before I got to
Selma, Alabama, that I wished the ticket and furlough both were in the
bottom of the ocean, and myself back in camp. Everywhere I went someone
wanted to see my furlough. Before I got my furlough, I thought it
sounded big. Furlough was a war word, and I did not comprehend its
meaning until I got one. The very word "furlough" made me sick then.
I feel fainty now whenever I think of furlough. It has a sickening sound
in the ring of it--"furlough!" "Furloch," it ought to have been called.
Every man I met had a furlough; in fact, it seemed to have the very
double-extract of romance about it--"fur too, eh?" Men who I knew had
never been in the army in their lives, all had furloughs. Where so many
men ever got furloughs from I never knew; but I know now.
Pages:
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198