To complete the plot and give it an artistic finish, it
was necessary to have a ham bone, and Gunboat volunteered to get it.
"I'm on picket tonight," he said, "and I'll go to the cookhouse when the
cook is asleep and fix it." He did so; when the cook was dreaming of
everything but the front line, Gunboat quietly slipped in, unearthed
the ham that was in readiness for our breakfast, and with his knife he
quickly extracted the bone, taking care of the pickings with his teeth
while finishing his sentry go.
The next night everything was in readiness and when the opportune moment
arrived, with Hambone leaving with ammunition for the guns, I passed the
word. When he was well on his way we hurried over to his shack, rooted
it out and carried it bodily over to the incinerator, setting it
completely over the hole. Now for the artistic touch. We took the ham
bone, fastened it with wire to the end of a stick that we nailed across
the top of the shack, with the end protruding well out to the side, and
on the end of the ham bone we hung a placard, so that all could see,
reading, "Here lies the remains of Hambone Davis.
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