SO MANY BALD HEADS
Reading edition
Thirty-six years after the date of the battle of Gettysburg, the veteran survivors of a Pennsylvania regiment were holding their first reunion in that celebrated town. In the forenoon they dedicated their monument on the field of “The First Day’s Fight,” and in the afternoon they were to hold a business meeting in the Post Room of the local G. A. R. On that day accommodations were quite inadequate in Gettysburg, and the Post Room was in consequence occupied nearly every hour of the day by some of the various organizations there assembled, so that when it came the turn of this particular regiment to occupy the room, the Seventh Pennsylvania Cavalry was still in session. They waited outside until the cavalrymen were through, and then filed in. One who was there says:
“As we went in, I noticed a man going in beside me, tall, well-formed, with a very fine head of coal-black hair, and rather the worse for drink. I wondered who he was, for I knew nearly every man in the regiment, but I couldn’t place that man.
“Well, when we were all seated, and General Wister took the gavel in hand to rap to order, this black-haired man arose slowly and somewhat uncertainly, saluted and said:
“‘Cap’n, before you read the minutes and proceed to business, I’d like to ask a question. What, hic, regiment is this that’s holding a reunion here?’
“‘The One Hundred and Fiftieth Pennsylvania, Bucktails,’ answered the general with a smile.
“‘Then, ’tain’t the Seventh Cavalry?’
“‘No. It’s the One Hundred and Fiftieth.’
“The Man seemed dazed, repeated the number over and over to himself and said: ‘Then I’m in the wrong box, cap’n—got left. Ever get left yourself, cap’n? Great Scott, got in the wrong box.”
“Then he sat down, chuckling to himself over his adventure and muttering, ‘Wrong box,’ and ‘Got left.’
“By and by he arose again, courteously saluted, and said:
“‘Cap’n, ’scuze me—but what regiment did you say this was? How much was it?”
“‘The One Hundred and Fiftieth.’
“‘The One Hundred and Fiftieth—’m hic, Great Scott,’ looking carefully around the room, ’a fellow’d think it was the Three Hundred and Forty-Ninth by the bald heads a-settin’ around here!’ And then he left, amidst roars of laughter.”