PRACTICAL JOKERS IN THE ARMY.
Written for the “ Spirit of the Times,” by an Officer of the U. S. Army.
NED C. was a young and merry Sub. of the --th Infantry, and what is termed in
the Army “ a clever fellow.” It is true, that Ned was somewhat given to keeping
his “ spirits up by pouring spirits down,” especially when stationed at an out-post
; but he never would have been called an intemperate man.
At the time of my story, the detachment of the Army to which Ned belonged occupied
a post on the South-Western frontier, and might be said to be in close
quarters ; as the officers and men, from the crowded state of the garrison,
were reduced to less than half the allowance of eating and sleeping room, authorized
by regulations. To this arrangement was Ned indebted for the society of the
post, who shared with him the comforts and conveniences of an apartment twelve
feet square.
The Doctor, actuated by feelings of regard for Ned’s well-being, (it may have
been with an eye to his own quiet and repose,) was in the habit of administering
to him, occasionally, a dose of good advice ; and remonstrating with him on
the impropriety of staying out late at night, getting “ tight,” and
coming home “ disturbing people after they had gone to bed ;” all of which Ned
took very patiently, but without mending his ways. The Doctor, finding that
it was utterly useless to appeal to Ned’s sense of propriety, with the hope
of effecting a change in his mode of life, began to address himself to his fears.
“ Ned,” said he, “ if you don’t stop this frolicking, and drinking, and spreeing,
you’ll get the dropsy—I know you will—and you’ll die in spite of the
d—l ! I tell you once for all to stop it, for if you get the dropsy
on your chest, you are a gone sucker ! all the medicine in my chest
won’t save you ! No, sir, burnt brandy won’t save you !”
The Doctor chid in vain, in vain did he continue to enumerate the various cases
of hard drinking terminating in dropsy, that had come under his observation,
since he had been a member of the Medical Staff—Ned was incorrigible.
As the lectures on temperance, and the terrible pictures of disease and death,
from indulgence in strong drink, held up to his view, were of no avail in exciting
his fears, the Doctor was about to despair of effecting a reform, when it was
brought about, for a time, in the following manner :—
As usual, late one night, Ned came home very glorious, singing at the
top of his voice, and winding up each verse of his song with a whoop, loud enough
to “ wake up half creation.” After making several lurches towards the door,
he succeeded in entering, and in the vain attempt of disencumbering himself
of coat and boots, at the same moment made a pitch forward, and lighted with
his head against the short-ribs of his sleeping room-mate. The Doctor’s bowels
of compassion were sadly disturbed ; however, after venting on the head of his
fallen friend a few hearty curses, he kindly assisted him in divesting himself
of his clothes, and saw him decently laid out on his mattress.
Next morning, as soon as it was light, the Doctor possessed himself of the sleeper’s
pantaloons and drawers, and with the assistance of the Hospital matron, had
them neatly taken in about four inches in the waist, then quietly replaced them,
and tumbled into bed to await the result. Half an hour before breakfast, (his
accustomed time for rising,) Ned slid out of bed, cooled his coppers by a long
pull at the water jug, and then commenced the operation of making his toilet.
The Doctor, who was lying with one eye open and a wad of bed-clothes stuffed
in his mouth—by way of smothering a desire to laugh—watched closely the dressing
process going on before him.
“ ‘Tis very strange,” exclaimed Ned ; “ I wonder what has got into these d—d
drawers ? they were large enough yesterday, and now I can’t make them meet !
‘Tis no use in trying—I’ll hitch them up to my pants.”
Ned then drew on his pantaloons, and strained himself to the utmost to make
them meet over his bread-basket, but it was no go—for with every effort
he only increased the size of the bunch of shirt that stuck out “ a feet” between
the buttons and button-holes of the waistband. After exhausting himself in vain
attempts to close the opening in his nether garments, he approached the Doctor,
who appeared to be asleep, and after arousing him, enquired if he could tell
what had occasioned the sudden disproportion between his unmentionables and
that part of his person which now refused to be enclosed in them.
“ Why, yes !” said the Doctor, rising and scrutinizing Ned closely—“ it is just
as plain as the nose on your face—you have been drinking and swilling, at such
a rate lately, that just what I predicted has come true—you have got the
dropsy !”
“ Great God ! you don’t tell me so !” ejaculated the poor Lieutenant, as he
clasped his hands together and fell back in an arm-chair. “ Oh ! that I had
listened to your advice, my dear fellow ! Can’t you do something to save me
?”
“ I’ll try !” was the reply, “ but you must go to bed, keep on low diet, avoid
all stimulating drinks, and take such medicines as I may prescribe !”
“ Thank you, Doctor, I will do anything in the world to get rid of this horrible
disease,” said Ned, “ and if you will only cure me, I’ll promise to stop drinking
altogether—Doctor, do you think I shall have to be tapped ?”
“ It is impossible to say, Ned, but,” added the Doctor, “ as you are young,
and have a good constitution, I think we may avoid that operation,
provided you keep still and lie on your back !”
Ned followed the Doctor’s advice strictly, took simples, dieted, and
kept on his back, whilst the Doctor and Ned’s brother officers, to whom the
joke had been imparted, were enjoying themselves at his expense. Every day he
would receive half a dozen visits of condolence from the subs. of the garrison—each
of whom would express his surprise at the enlarged state of Ned’s corporosity.
At the end of a week, the Doctor again abstracted Ned’s breeches and drawers—had
them restored to their fair proportion, replaced by the bedside of his unsuspecting
patient, and then told him to rise and dress himself. So indeed he did, and
Ned soon found, to his infinite joy, that his clothes were almost as much too
large for him now, as they were before too small—all symptoms of dropsy having
disappeared—thanks to the kind attention of the Doctor, which were liberally
bestowed on him by Ned. The Doctor bound all the officers to secrecy, and Ned’s
dropsy became the standing joke of the garrison.
Time passed on, and by accident or design, Ned made the acquaintance of the
fair (I would not say frail) one, whom the Doctor employed as seamstress—the
very person he had engaged to sew up the Lieutenant’s inexpressibles—as a matter
of course, he had not advanced very far into her affections, before she threw
out hints that awakened Ned’s suspicions, and with a little management, he soon
possessed himself of all the particulars of the trick that had been played on
him.
No longer having the fear of death from dropsy before his eyes, Ned
relapsed into his old habits, “ just as easy as falling off a log,” and the
Doctor’s nightly persecutions again commenced. The temperance lectures were
renewed, and the late hair-breadth escape was held up before him “ in terrorem
;” but to no purpose. Ned’s constant reply to all the admonitions of the Doctor
was, “ a short life and a merry one !” At times, however, Ned would appear melancholy
and dejected, and would say to the Doctor, that he was tired of this existence,
and that he must not be surprised if he put an end to himself. [1]
About 11 o’clock one night, after the Doctor had retired to rest, and was snoozing
it away very comfortably, protected from the assaults of musquitoes by a well
tucked pavillion, he was suddenly aroused from his slumber by the entrance
of Ned, who was very much disguised by liquor—
“ Doctor,” said he, (reeling backwards and forward, and introducing a hickup
now and then between his words), “ Doctor, get up ! I want to talk to you ‘bout
something that concerns life and death—I want your advice, my dear fellow. I
am about to commit a deed—a fearful deed—a horrid deed ! Get up, won’t you ?”
“ Clear out and go to bed, and stop your d—d noise,” growled the Doctor as he
turned over in bed.
“ Well, it is the last favor I have to ask you, Doctor, and I ask it for the
last time. I am tired of this life, and if you don’t get up I’ll blow my d—d
brains out, (and here he drew and cocked a pistol). Will you get up and
hear what I have to say or not ?”
“ No, and be d—d to you,” shouted the Doctor.
“ Then here goes,” and as he said it bang went the pistol, and poor Ned was
stretched on the floor weltering in blood.
“ Great God,” cried the Doctor, as he leaped from the bed, (carrying with him
the musquito-bar, through which he had bolted his head), “ what have you done
!” then casting a glance in the corner of the room, he saw by the flickering
of light in an expiring candle, the mutilated remains of the unfortunate young
man. As he rushed in agony from the room he encountered several of the officers,
who hearing the report of the pistol were proceeding to the spot, to learn the
cause of this unusual disturbance. To their enquiries the Doctor only replied
by exclaiming—“ O ! he begged me to get up—he said he would kill himself if
I didn’t get up, and he has done it ! I might have prevented him. Oh ! I never,
never shall forgive myself !” Such were the lamentations uttered by the Doctor,
as he paced backward and forward before the door, when he was accosted by the
commanding officer, who demanded the cause of the alarm.
“ He has just shot himself, and I might have prevented it, Sir, but I wouldn’t
get up when he begged me to do so—Oh ! I shall always have his death upon my
conscience.”
“ But speak, Sir, who has shot himself ?” asked the commandant, seizing the
frantic Doctor by the remnant of the musquito-bar, which still streamed from
his neck.
“ Lieut. C., Sir—he has just blown his brains out !”
“ And have you examined the wound ?” demanded the commandant.
“ No Sir, no—I shall never be able to look upon him again.”
“ Calm yourself, Doctor, and go immediately and ascertain the extent of the
injury,” said the commandant, sternly.
The Doctor yielding to the tone of authority with which the last words were
spoken, slowly returned to the room where the tragical scene had just been enacted,
and approaching the gory remains of the poor Lieutenant, placed his hand professionally
on the pulse. At the same time the corpse rising on one elbow, and bringing
the tip of the thumb in contact with the end of the nose, and waving his open
hand, said, “you’ll sew up my breeches again, old Pill Box, will
you ?” Then shout of laughter that followed showed that most of the persons
present were in the secret, and doubtless had aided Ned with the help of Bullocks
blood, to represent the mangled corpse. The commandant with difficulty restrained
his laughter, but for the sake of discipline administered a reproof to the party,
and forbade for the future the perpetration of practical jokes in Garrison.
The Doctor didn’t see that there was anything to laugh at, and said this was
no fun, in causing him to ruin a fine musquito-bar, that had cost him five dollars,
with their infernal nonsense.
N. C. M. J.
Source: New York Spirit of the Times 15.31 (27 September 1845): 357. University of Virginia Alderman Library.
Erin Bartels prepared this typescript.
[1] Original text reads “if he put an to himself.”
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