In July, 1861, when our regiment was recruiting at the "Tent” at Union Square, we used to get our meals at a restaurant, corner of –th street and 2d Avenue, kept by a good natured old teuton, by the name of S–.

The squad under command of Lieut. T , were detailed as recruiting sergeants, and received little tickets– "Good for one meal," and new recruits frequently received meals at this place, previous to their being transferred to Riker's Island, our rendezvous at the time. Old S– used to give us very good food, full as good as he could afford for the price he received, but of course not as large a bill of fare as he gave to his cash customers.

We, the squad, sat at our usual table one day, waiting for our "grub," when a tall, genteel-looking man entered, whom we at once recognized as an individual that had just enrolled his name and had just received his ticket for dinner. The individual walked leisurely up to the bar with as much style as a Beau Brummel, and called for a glass of brandy which he drank with the air of a Count, and then asked old S. in a patronizing way, what he had good for dinner. S–, supposing of course, he was a cash customer, very politely handed him the bill of fare. After examining for some time through his gold-bowed glasses, he ordered his broiled chicken and other "fixens," with a bottle of claret to wash it down.

Old S–, who with a prospective view of two or three dollars more in the drawer was very polite, begged the gentleman to be seated till his dinner could be served, while he stepped nimbly to the kitchen to give instructions to Katrens, the cook. After waiting a few moments, the gentleman unwittingly pulled out his ticket and laid it on the table. We squad set quietly eating our beans awaiting the denoument. Presently old S– passed the table, and as he did So, his eye caught sight of the ticket, and giving the individual one look of mingled rage and astonishment, he started double-quick for the kitchen, shouting at the top of his voice, "Kadrine! Kadrine! stop the shicken! stop de shicken! he is an Anderson Zouave"

The shout that went up from the squad, may better be imagined than described, and old S– did not hear the last of "stop de shicken" for a long time.

When our regiment was encamped at Tenallytown, D. C., in the winter of 1861–2, there was one Dennis McC–, a quick-witted, good-natured son of Erin, who belonged to Capt. W–'s company. Now Captain W– was a fussy, quick tempered little man, and immense on discipline. Dennis had committed a trifling act prejudicial to good order and military discipline, and was ordered by Capt. W– to walk in front of his (the Captain's) tent, for six consecutive hours, fully armed and equipped for punishment. Denny had been on his post but a short time, when a brother Emeralder happened to pass and asked him what he [was doing. Denny replied to Pat "Haven't you heard] that the Captain's gone crazy, and the Colonel has ordered a guard to keep him in the tent till he's sent away."

"Why, no," says Pat, "sure I'd not heard of it."

"Indade," says Denny, "it's mighty hard work to keep him under the tent, he takes on so sometimes."

Pat expressed his sorrow at the misfortune of his Captain, and started to go on his way, when Denny called him and wanted to know if he could stand there at his post a short time, as he wished to go to his tent a moment.

Pat of course was ready to do his comrade a favor, and in the twinkling, Denny's rifle and equipments were transfered to Pat, with caution to look out for the Captain.

Pat said he would look out for him, and Denny left Pat in full possession.

Soon the Captain, who had been busy in the tent, thought he would see how Denny was getting along, and was about to step out, when he was not a little surprised by Pat's bayonet pointed rather close to his breast, with the order to get back to his bed or he would "prad" him with his bayonet. The captain's surprise soon gave way to indignation, "deep and dire," and in no gentle manner demanded to know what he was doing there, and attempted to collar poor Pat. But Pat was prepared for him, and after a series of parries and thrusts, he brought the point of the bayonet to the breast of the Captain. In the voice of a man who was doing his duty to the letter, he told the Captain if he did not get back to his bed he would run him through. The Capt. saw that Pat was in earnest, and did get back; but putting his head outside the tent, he demanded to know why this outrage. He stamped and swore, but to no avail. Pat was immovable. Soon Lieut. P– made his appearance, and after an explanation, set things to rights, and Pat retired in disgust, upbraiding his comrade who had served him the "dirty thrick."

But the joke was too good, however, and Dennis was pardoned from any further duty on that post, with the caution never to play his pranks again. Denny promised and was pardoned. 

Utica Daily Observer, Monday, March 12, 1864.