To prove his
assertion, the man sang what he termed the steer's favorite, and to
the surprise of every soldier present, a fine, big mottled beef walked
out from among a thousand others and stood entranced over the simple
song. In my younger days my voice was considered musical; I could sing
the folk-songs of my country better than the average, and when
the herdsmen left us, I was pleased to see that my vocal efforts
fascinated the late arrival from Texas. Within a week I could call him
out with a song, when I fell so deeply in love with the broad-horn
Texan that his life was spared through my disloyalty. In the daily
issue to the army we kept him back as long as possible; but when our
supply was exhausted, and he would have gone to the shambles the
following day, I secretly cut him out at night and drove him miles to
our rear, that his life might be spared. Within a year he returned
with another consignment of beef; comrades who were in the secret
would not believe me; but when a quartette of us army herders sang
"Rock of Ages," the steer walked out and greeted us with mute
appreciation. We enjoyed his company for over a month, I could call
him with a song as far as my voice reached, and when death again
threatened him, we cut him to the rear and he was never spoken again.
Loyal as I was to the South, I would have deserted rather than have
seen that steer go to the shambles.
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