the hard and solid staff of military life.

"appetite's a queer thing," said si to shorty one day, when both were in a philosophical mood. "it's an awful bother when you haven't it, and it's a great deal worse when you have it, and can't get anything for it." "same as money," returned sage shorty. during the first few months of si klegg's service in the army the one thing that bothered him more than anything else was his appetite. it was a very robust, healthy one that si had, for he had grown up on his father's farm in indiana, and had never known what it was to be hungry without abundant means at hand for appeasing his desires in that direction. his mother's cupboard was never known to be in the condition of old mother hubbard's, described in the nursery rhyme. the kleggs might not have much tapestry and bric-a-brac in their home, but their smoke-house was always full, and mrs. klegg's kitchen could have fed a camp-meeting any time without warning. so it was that when si enlisted his full, rosy face and his roundness of limb showed that he had been well fed, and that nature had made good use of the ample daily supplies that were provided. his digestive organs were kept in perfect condition by constant exercise.

after si had put down his name on the roll of co. q of the 200th ind. he had but a few days to remain at home before his regiment was to start for louisville. during this time his mother and sisters kept him filled up with "goodies" of every sort. in fact, it was the biggest thing in the way of a protracted picnic that si had ever struck.

"you must enjoy these things while you can, si," said his mother, "for goodness knows what you'll do when you really git into the army. i've heerd 'em tell awful things about how the poor sogers don't have half enough to eat, and what they do git goes agin' any christian stomach. here, take another piece of this pie. a little while, and it'll be a long time, i reckon, till ye git any more."

"don't keer if i do!" said si, for there was scarcely any limit to his capacity.

and so during those days and nights the old lady and the girls cooked and cooked, and si ate and ate, until it seemed as if he wouldn't want any more till the war was over.

si was full, and as soon as co. q was, it was ordered to camp, and si had to go. they loaded him down with good things enough to last him a week. the pretty annabel—the neighbor's daughter who had solemnly promised si that she wouldn't go with any other fellow while he was away—came around to see si off and brought him a rich fruit cake.

"i made that for you," she said.

"bully for you!" said si, for he felt that he must begin to talk like a soldier.

the first day or two after reaching louisville the 200th received rations of "soft bread." but that didn't last long. it was only a way they had of letting the fresh soldier down easy. orders came to get ready to pull out after bragg, and then si'a regiment had its first issue of army rations. as the orderly pried open a box of hardtack and began to distribute them to the boys, exclaimed:

"them's nice-looking soda crackers. i don't believe the grub is going to be so bad, after all."

si had never seen a hardtack before.

"better taste one and see how you like it!" said one of buell's ragged indiana veterans, who had come over to see the boys of the 200th and hear the latest news from "god's country."

it happened that this lot was one of extra quality as to hardness. the baker's watch had stopped, or he had gone to sleep, and they had been left in the oven or dry-kiln too long. si took one of them and carried it to his mouth. he first tried on it the bite which made such havoc with a quarter section of custard pie, but his incisors made no more impression upon it than if it had been a shingle.

"you have to bear on hard," said the veteran, with a grim smile.

"je-ru-sa-lem!" exclaimed si after he had made two or three attempts equally barren of results.

then he tried his "back teeth." his molars were in prime order, and his jaw power was sufficient to crack a hickory nut every time. si crowded one corner of the hardtack as far as he could between his "grinders," where he could get a good "purchase" on it, shut his eyes and turned on a full head of steam. his teeth and jaws fairly cracked under the strain, but he couldn't even "phase" it.

"if that ain't old pizen!" said si. "it beats anything i ever seen up in the wabash country."

but his blood was up, and laying the cracker upon a log, he brought the butt of his gun down upon it like a pile-driver.

he tries the butt of his gun on it 041

"i thought i'd fix ye," he said, as he picked up the fragments, and tried his teeth upon the smaller ones. "have i got to eat such stuff as that?" with a despairing look at his veteran friend. "i'd just as soon be a billy-goat and live on circus-posters, fruit-cans and old hoop-skirts."

"you'll get used to it after a while, same's we did. you'll see the time when you'll be mighty glad to get even as hard a tack as that!"

si's heart sank almost into his shoes at the prospect, for the taste of his mother's pie and annabel's fruit cake were yet fresh in his mouth. but si was fully bent on being a loyal, obedient soldier, determined to make the best of everything without any more "kicking" than was the inalienable right of every man who wore a uniform.

for the first time in his life si went to bed hungry that night. impelled by the gnawings of his appetite he made repeated assaults upon the hardtack, but the result was wholly insufficient to satisfy the longings of his stomach. his supper wasn't anything to speak of. before going to bed he began to exercise his ingenuity on various schemes to reduce the hardtack to a condition in which it would be more gratifying to his taste and better suited to the means with which nature had provided him for disposing of his rations. naturally si thought that soaking in water would have a beneficial effect. so he laid five or six of them in the bottom of a camp-kettle, anchored them down with a stone, and covered them with water. he thought that with the aid of a frying-pan he would get up a breakfast that he could eat, anyway.

si felt a little blue as he lay curled up under his blanket with his head pillowed on his knapsack. he thought some about his mother, and sister maria, and pretty annabel, but he thought a good deal more about the beef and potatoes, the pies and the puddings, that were so plentifully spread upon the table at home.

it was a long time before he got to sleep. as he lay there, thinking and thinking, there came to his mind some ether uses to which it seemed to him the hardtack might be put, which would be much more consistent with its nature than to palm it off on the soldiers as alleged food. he thought he could now understand why, when he enlisted, they examined his teeth so carefully, as if they were going to buy him for a mule. they said it was necessary to have good teeth in order to bite "cartridges" successfully, but now he knew it was with reference to his ability to eat hardtack.

si didn't want to be killed if he could help it.

while he was lying there he determined to line one of his shirts with hardtacks, and he would put that on whenever there was going to be a fight. he didn't believe the bullets would go through them. he wanted to do all he could toward paralyzing the rebels, and with such a protection he could be very brave, while his comrades were being mowed down around him. the idea of having such' a shirt struck si as being a brilliant one.

then, he thought hardtack would be excellent for half-soling his shoes. he didn't think they would ever wear out.

if he ran short of ammunition he could ram pieces of hardtack into his gun and he had no doubt they would do terrible execution in the ranks of the enemy.

all these things and many more si thought of until finally he was lost in sleep. then he dreamed that somebody was trying to cram stones down his throat.

the company was called out at daylight, and immediately after roll-call si went to look after the hardtacks he had put to soak the night before. he thought he had never felt so hungry in his life. he fished out the hardtack and carefully inspected them, to note the result of the submerging and to figure out the chances on his much-needed breakfast.

to any old soldier it would be unnecessary to describe the condition in which si found those hardtacks, and the effect of the soaking. for the information of any who never soaked a hardtack it may be said that si found them transformed, to all appearances, into sole-leather. they were flexible, but as tough as the hide that was "found in the vat when the tanner died."

si tried to bite a piece off one of them to see what it was like, but he couldn't get his teeth through it. in sheer desperation he laid it on a log, seized a hatchet, and chopped off a corner. he put it in his mouth and chewed on it a while, but found it as tasteless as cold codfish.

si thought he would try the frying-pan. he chopped the hardtacks into bits, put in equal parts of water and grease, sifted over the mixture a little salt and pepper, and then gave it a thorough frying. si's spirits rose during the gradual development of this scheme, as it seemed to offer a good prospect for his morning meal. and when it came to the eating. si found it really good, comparatively speaking, even though it was very much like a dish compounded of the sweepings from around a shoemaker's bench. a good appetite was indispensable to a real enjoyment of this—which the soldiers called by a name that cannot be given here—but si had the appetite, and he ate and was thankful.

"i thought i'd get the bulge on them things some way or other," said si, as he drank the last of his coffee and arose from his meal, feeling like a giant refreshed with new wine.

for the next two or three months si largely devoted his surplus energies to further experimenting with the hardtack. he applied every conceivable process of cookery he could think of that was possible with the meager outfit at his command in the way of utensils and materials. nearly all of his patient and persevering efforts resulted only in vexation of spirit.

he continued to eat hardtack from day to day, in these various forms, but it was only because he had to do it. he didn't hanker after it, but it was a military necessity—hardtack or starvation. it was a hard choice, but si's love of life—and annabel—induced him to choose the hardtack.

the best way after all 045

but for a long-time si's stomach was in a state of chronic rebellion, and on the whole he had a hard time of it getting used to this staple article of army diet. he did not become reconciled to it until after his regiment had rations of flour for a week, when the "cracker-line" had been cut by the guerillas and the supply of that substantial edible was exhausted. si's experience with the flour swept away all his objections to the hardtack. those slapjacks, so fearfully and wonderfully made, and those lumps of dough, mixed with cold water and dried on flat stones before the fire, as hard as cannon balls, played sad havoc with his internal arrangements. for the first time he was obliged to fall into the cadaverous squad at sick-call and wabble up to the doctor's shop, where he was dosed with castor-oil and blue-mass. si was glad enough to see hardtack again. most of the grumbling he did thereafter concerning the hardtack was because he often couldn't get enough.

about six months taught si what all the soldiers learned by experience, that the best way to eat the average hardtack was to take it "straight"—just as it came out of the box, without any soaking or frying or stewing. at meal-time he would make a quart or so of coffee, stab the end of a ramrod through three or four slices of sowbelly, and cook them over the coals, allowing some of the drippings to fall upon the hardtack for lubricating purposes, and these constituted his frugal repast.