The Bugle Call Of "Taps" Is Mournful Also Through Association, As
It Is Always Blown Over The Grave Of A Soldier Or An Officer,
After The Coffin Has Been Lowered Into The Earth.
The
soldier-musicians who blow the calls, seem to love the call of
"taps," (strangely enough) and I remember
Well that there at Camp
MacDowell, we all used to go out and listen when "taps went," as
the soldier who blew it, seemed to put a whole world of sorrow
into it, turning to the four points of the compass and letting
its clear tones tremble through the air, away off across the
Maricopa desert and then toward the East, our home so faraway. We
never spoke, we just listened, and who can tell the thoughts that
each one had in his mind? Church nor ministers nor priests had we
there in those distant lands, but can we say that our lives were
wholly without religion?
The Sunday inspection of men and barracks, which was performed
with much precision and formality,and often in full dress
uniform, gave us something by which we could mark the weeks, as
they slipped along. There was no religious service of any kind,
as Uncle Sam did not seem to think that the souls of us people in
the outposts needed looking after. It would have afforded much
comfort to the Roman Catholics had there been a priest stationed
there.
The only sermon I ever heard in old Camp MacDowell was delivered
by a Mormon Bishop and was of a rather preposterous nature,
neither instructive nor edifying.
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