- Joined
- Aug 27, 2011
- Location
- Central Massachusetts
Delvan Miller, in Drum Taps in Dixie (1905), recalls "Dog Billy" of the 2nd N.Y. Heavies (H.A. serving as Infantry):
When McClellan’s army left for the Peninsula a soldier sold to one of our boys his dog. He was[Pg 68] just a plain every day sort of dog with chopped off tail and clipped ears, but in some respects the most knowing little fellow I ever saw, and he soon became a great favorite with everybody in camp.
He learned the bugle and drum calls and took special delight in dress parades. When the men were forming for that, Billy would run up and down the line barking and cut up all sorts of capers he was so very happy.
He seemed to be fond of brass band music and would lead the musicians up and down the line until the colonel ordered the sergeant major to drive him away. He charged on Billy with drawn sword and the knowing little fellow kept behind the line ever after that.
There was a nice large “swimmin’ hole” in “Four Mile Run,” not far from camp, where we used to go bathing frequently. Billy always went, too, and had great sport with the boys. Nothing pleased him more than to have some one pick him up and throw him headlong into the water.
Old “Lige” Moyer used to come out in front of his cook tent almost every evening and play the fiddle, and, if you will believe it, “Lige” learned Billy to waltz, rewarding him with liberal rations after the performance. Billy always stood guard with his master, keeping him company in his lonely night watches.
The crack of a rifle did not disturb him the least bit, but the booming of the heavy guns were too much for his nerves, and he would go and hide in his owner’s tent.
When we were ordered out to the front for the Bull Run campaign Billy went along, too. He used to curl up under the same blanket with Joe, his master. The morning that the battle of Manassas opened our regiment was subjected to a severe artillery fire for two hours. Billy became a skulker and went to the rear. In the skedaddle and panic that occurred later in the day, Joe, with many others, was taken prisoner by the Johnnies.
A couple of weeks later our regiment was sent back to the forts. Billy was not with us and no one had seen him since the morning at Bull Run. We concluded that he must have been taken prisoner, too, but a few days later Billy appeared in camp. He was a sorry looking dog, thin as a razor and his hair turned toward his head. The distance to Manassas was about twenty-five miles, but he had probably tramped much farther in finding his way back to camp.
All were glad to see him again, and he seemed pleased enough to see us until he found that Joe was not there. No more the bugle calls aroused him, and even the music of the band had lost its charm. He would just go looking in the different tents and keep up a continual whining.
One day he got tired waiting for Joe to come back and he left us, and that was the last we ever heard of dog Billy.
DOG BILLY OF THE SECOND HEAVY.
When McClellan’s army left for the Peninsula a soldier sold to one of our boys his dog. He was[Pg 68] just a plain every day sort of dog with chopped off tail and clipped ears, but in some respects the most knowing little fellow I ever saw, and he soon became a great favorite with everybody in camp.
He learned the bugle and drum calls and took special delight in dress parades. When the men were forming for that, Billy would run up and down the line barking and cut up all sorts of capers he was so very happy.
There was a nice large “swimmin’ hole” in “Four Mile Run,” not far from camp, where we used to go bathing frequently. Billy always went, too, and had great sport with the boys. Nothing pleased him more than to have some one pick him up and throw him headlong into the water.
Old “Lige” Moyer used to come out in front of his cook tent almost every evening and play the fiddle, and, if you will believe it, “Lige” learned Billy to waltz, rewarding him with liberal rations after the performance. Billy always stood guard with his master, keeping him company in his lonely night watches.
The crack of a rifle did not disturb him the least bit, but the booming of the heavy guns were too much for his nerves, and he would go and hide in his owner’s tent.
When we were ordered out to the front for the Bull Run campaign Billy went along, too. He used to curl up under the same blanket with Joe, his master. The morning that the battle of Manassas opened our regiment was subjected to a severe artillery fire for two hours. Billy became a skulker and went to the rear. In the skedaddle and panic that occurred later in the day, Joe, with many others, was taken prisoner by the Johnnies.
A couple of weeks later our regiment was sent back to the forts. Billy was not with us and no one had seen him since the morning at Bull Run. We concluded that he must have been taken prisoner, too, but a few days later Billy appeared in camp. He was a sorry looking dog, thin as a razor and his hair turned toward his head. The distance to Manassas was about twenty-five miles, but he had probably tramped much farther in finding his way back to camp.
All were glad to see him again, and he seemed pleased enough to see us until he found that Joe was not there. No more the bugle calls aroused him, and even the music of the band had lost its charm. He would just go looking in the different tents and keep up a continual whining.
One day he got tired waiting for Joe to come back and he left us, and that was the last we ever heard of dog Billy.