Early in the spring Beau fell into some disgrace, for while romping
with my little boy he threw him down and broke his arm. Everybody
scolded the poor dog, crying shame on him wherever he appeared, until
he got a habit of slinking out of sight. Before the broken arm was
quite well, little Wally grow very ill of typhoid fever, so ill that
his papa was sent for, for it seemed that he must die. Beauregard
attached himself very closely to my husband, rarely leaving his side.
When his new master returned to camp, I went down to the boat to see
him off. The dog followed us. The boat was crowded with soldiers going
to reinforce McGruder, so I did not go on board, but when ready to
return discovered that Beau was missing. The first letter from my
husband announced that the dog had followed his master on the boat,
where he must have hidden, for his presence was not discovered until
some time after the boat had left the wharf. In camp he became a
terrible nuisance. No matter how securely he was tied, the dog always
managed to escape and _attend the drill_. Here he would sometimes sit
down and gravely watch the proceedings, cocking his head first on one
side, then on the other, but usually he would rush into the ranks to
find his master, getting under the feet of the men, who in consequence
lost step and got out of line, of course becoming very angry.
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