cket coming down only to the waist, hence a
hole in the seat of the pants was conspicuous, and was regarded as not
suited to the dignity and soldierly appearance of a Howitzer. For one to
go around with such a hole showing--any longer than he could help
it--was considered a want of respect to his comrades. Public opinion
demanded that these holes be stopped up as soon as possible. Sitting
about on rough surfaces--as stumps, logs, rocks, and the ground--made
many breaks in the integrity of pants, and caused need of frequent
repairs, for ours was not as those of the ancient Hebrews to whom Moses
said, "Thy raiment waxed not old upon thee"--ours waxed very old, before
we could get another pair, and were easily rubbed through. The more
sedate men were content with a plain, unpretentious patch, but this did
not satisfy the youngsters, whose aesthetic souls yearned for "they know
not what," until Ben Lambert showed them. One morning he appeared at
roll call with a large patch in the shape of a heart transfixed with an
arrow, done out of red flannel. This at once won the admiration and envy
of the soldiers. They now saw what they wished, in the way of a patch,
and proceeded to get it. Each one set his ingenuity to work to devise
something unique. Soon the results began to appear. Upon the seats of
one, and another, and another, were displayed figures of birds, beasts
and men--a spread eagle, a cow, a horse, a cannon. One artist depicted a
"Cupid" with his bow, and just across on the other hip a heart pierced
with an arrow from Cupid's bow--all wrought out of red flannel and sewed
on as patches to cover the holes in the pants, and, at the same time,
present a pleasing appearance. By and by these devices increased in
number, and when the company was fallen in for roll call the line, seen
from the rear, presented a very gay and festive effect.

One morning, a General, who happened in camp--the gallant soldier, and
merry Irishman, General Pat Finnegan, was standing, with our Captain, in
front of the line, hearing the roll call.

That done, the Orderly Sergeant gave the order, "'Bout face!" The rear
of the line was thus turned toward General Finnegan. When that art
gallery--in red flannel--was suddenly displayed to his delighted eyes
the General nearly laughed himself into a fit.

"Oh, boys," he cried out, "don't ever turn your backs upon the enemy.
Sure they'll git ye--red makes a divil of a good target. But I wouldn't
have miss