mashed on our colored brothers, and one thing that prevented me from
enlisting before I did was the idea of making the colored men free. I
had nothing against a colored man, and got to think a great deal of them
afterwards, but the idea of acting as an undertaker for the colored
race never occurred to me. I made up my mind to kick on that part of the
duties, when the chaplain came in and said the colored cook of one of
the companies was dead, and would be buried that afternoon, and as he
had to go to a meeting of chaplains down town, I would have to go and
conduct the services, and I better prepare myself with a little speech.
I was in a fix. I told the chaplain that it might not have occurred
to him, but honestly, I couldn't pray. He said that didn't make any
difference. I told him I couldn't preach hardly at all. He said I didn't
need to. All I had to do was to go and find out something about the life
of the deceased, what kind of a man he was, and say a few words at the
grave complimentary of him, console the mourners, if there were any, and
counsel them to try to lead a different life, that they might eventually
enter into the glory of the New Jerusalem, or words to that effect.
Well, this made me perspire. This was a tighter place than I was in when
I met the rebel. The idea of my conducting the funeral exercises of
such a black-burying party, made me tired. The chaplain said a good deal
depended on how I got through this first case, as if I succeeded well,
it would be a great feather in my cap. His idea, he said, was to try me
first on a nigger, and if I was up to snuff, and carried myself like a
thoroughbred, there would be nothing too good for me in that regiment.

I went to the orderly sergeant of the company where the man died, to
get some points as to his career, in order to work in a few remarks
appropriate to the occasion, and I said to the orderly:

"I understand your company cook has gone to that bourne from whence no
traveler returns. I thought that was pretty good for a green hand, for a
starter."

"Yes," said the orderly, as he looked solemn, "The old son-of-a-gun has
passed in his chips, and is now walking in green pastures, beside still
waters, but he will not drink any of the aforesaid still waters, if he
can steal any whisky to drink."

"You astonish, me," said I to the orderly. "The fact is, the chaplain
has sawed off on to me the duty of seeing to the burial of our deceased
friend, and I cal