This Day in History (Continued from Yesterday).....

Why not let one of the surviors tell the story.....

THE LOSS OF THE MONITOR
as previously written
by
Francis B. Butts
for the
Rhode Island Soldiers & Sailors Historical Society
in the Century Magazine: December 1885


At daybreak on the 20th of December, 1862, at Fort Monroe, the Monitor hove short her anchor, and by ten o'clock in the forenoon she was under way for Charleston, South Carolina, in charge of Commander J. B. Bankhead. The Rhode Island, a powerful side-wheeled steamer, was to be our convoy, and to hasten our speed she took us in tow with two long twelve-inch hawsers. The weather was heavy with dark, stormy-looking clouds and a westerly wind. We passed out of the Roads and rounded Cape Henry, proceeding on our course with but little change in the weather up to the next day at noon, when the wind shifted to the south-south-west and increased to a gale. At twelve o'clock it was my trick at the lee wheel, and being a good hand I was kept there. At dark we were about seventy miles at sea, and directly off Cape Hatteras. The sea rolled high and pitched together in the peculiar manner only seen at Hatteras. The Rhode Island steamed slowly and steadily ahead. The sea rolled over us as if our vessel were a rock in the ocean only a few inches above the water, and men who stood abaft on the deck of the Rhode Island have told me that several times we were thought to have gone down. It seemed that for minutes we were out of sight, as the heavy seas entirely submerged the vessel. The wheel had been temporarily rigged on top of the turret, where all the officers, except those on duty in the engine-room, now were. I heard their remarks, and watched closely the movements of the vessel, so that I exactly understood our condition. The vessel was making very heavy weather, riding one huge wave, plunging through the next as if shooting straight for the bottom of the ocean, and splashing down upon another with such force that her hull would tremble, and with a shock that would sometimes take us off our feet, while a fourth would leap upon us and break far above the turret, so that if we had not been protected by a rifle-armor that was securely fastened and rose to the height of a man's chest, we should have been washed away. I had volunteered for service on the Monitor while she lay at the Washington Navy Yard in November. This going to sea in an iron-clad I began to think was the dearest part of my bargain. I thought of what I had been taught in the service, that a man always gets into trouble if he volunteers.

About eight o'clock, while I was taking a message from the captain to the engineer, I saw the water pouring in through the coal-bunkers in sudden volumes as it swept over the deck. About that time the engineer reported that the coal was too wet to keep up steam, which had run down from its usual pressure of eighty pounds to twenty. The water in the vessel was gaining rapidly over the small pumps, and I heard the captain order the chief engineer to start the main pump, a very powerful one of new invention. This was done, and I saw a stream of water eight inches in diameter spouting up from beneath the waves.

About half-past eight the first signals of distress to the Rhode Island were burned. She lay to, and we rode the sea more comfortably than when we were being towed. The Rhode Island was obliged to turn slowly ahead to keep from drifting upon us and to prevent the tow-lines from being caught in her wheels. At one time, when she drifted close alongside, our captain shouted through his trumpet that we were sinking, and asking the steamer to send us her boats. The Monitor steamed ahead again with renewed difficulties, and I was ordered to leave the wheel and was kept employed as messenger by the captain. The chief engineer reported that the coal was so wet that he could not keep up the steam, and I heard the captain order him to slow down and put all steam that could be spared upon the pumps. As there was danger of being towed under by our consort, the tow-lines were ordered to be cut, and I saw James Fenwick, quarter-gunner, swept from the deck and carried by a heavy sea lee-ward and out of sight in attempting to obey the order. Our daring boatswain's mate, John Stocking, then succeeded in reaching the bows of the vessel, and I saw him swept by a heavy sea far away into the darkness.

About half-past ten o'clock our anchor was let go with all the cable, and struck bottom in about sixty fathoms of water; this brought us out of the trough of the sea, and we rode it more comfortably. The fires could no longer be kept up with the wet coal. The small pumps were choked up with water, or, as the engineer reported, were drowned, and the main pump had almost stopped working from lack of power. This was reported to the captain, and he ordered me to see if there was any water in the ward-room. This was the first time I had been below the berth-deck. I went forward and saw the water running in through the hawse-pipe, an eight-inch hole, in full force, as in dropping the anchor the cable had torn away the packing that had kept this place tight. I reported my observations, and at the same time heard the chief engineer report that the water had reached the ash-pits and was gaining very rapidly. The captain ordered him to stop the main engine and turn all steam on the pumps, which I noticed soon worked again.

The clouds now began to separate, a moon of about half size beamed out upon the sea, and the Rhode Island, now a mile away, became visible. Signals were being exchanged, and I felt that the Monitor would be saved, or at least that the captain would not leave his ship until there was no hope of saving her. I was sent below again to see how the water stood in the ward-room. I went forward to the cabin and found the water just above the soles of my shoes, which indicated that there must be more than a foot in the vessel. I reported this to the captain, and all hands were set to baling, -baling out the ocean, as it seemed, - but the object was to employ the men, as there now seemed to be danger of excitement among them. I kept employed most of the time taking the buckets from through the hatchway on top of the turret. They seldom would have more than a pint of water in them, however, the balance having been spilled out in passing from one man to another.

The weather was clear, but the sea did not cease rolling in the least, and the Rhode Island with the two lines wound up in her wheel, was tossing at the mercy of the sea, and came drifting against our sides. A boat that had been lowered was caught between the vessels and crushed and lost. Some of our seamen bravely leaped down on deck to guard our sides, and lines were thrown to them from the deck of the Rhode Island, which now lay her whole length against us, floating off astern; but not a man would be the first to leave his ship, although the captain gave orders to do so. I was again sent to examine the water in the ward-room, which I found to be more than two feet above the deck; and I think I was the last person who saw Engineer S.A. Lewis as he lay seasick in his bunk, apparently watching the water as it grew deeper and deeper, and aware what his fate must be. He called me as I passed his door, and asked if the pumps were working. I replied that they were. "Is there any hope?" he asked; and feeling a little moved at the scene, and knowing certainly what must be his end, and the darkness that stared at us all, I replied, "As long as there is life there is hope." "Hope and hang on when you are wrecked," is an old saying among sailors. I left the ward-room, and learned that the water had gained so as to choke up the main pump. As I was crossing the berth-deck I saw our ensign, Mr. Fredrickson, hand a watch to Master's Mate Williams, saying, "Here, this is yours; I may be lost." The watch and chain were both of unusual value. Williams received them into his hand, then with a hesitating glance at the time-piece said, "This thing may be the means of sinking me," and threw it upon the deck. There were three or four cabin-boys pale and prostrate with seasickness, and the cabin cook, an old African negro, under great excitement, was scolding them most profanely.

As I ascended the turret ladder the sea broke over the ship, and came pouring down the hatchway with so much force that it took me off my feet; and at the same time the steam broke from the boiler-room, as the water had reached the fires, and for an instant I seemed to realize that we had gone down. Our fires were out, and I heard the water blowing out of the boilers. I reported my observations to the captain, and at the same time saw a boat alongside. The captain again gave orders for the men to leave the ship, and fifteen, all of whom were seamen and men whom I had placed my confidence upon, were the ones who crowded the first boat to leave the ship. I was disgusted at witnessing the scramble, and not feeling in the least alarmed about myself, resolved that I, an "old haymaker," as landsmen are called, would stick to the ship as long as my officers. I saw three of these men swept from the deck and carried leeward on the swift current.

Bailing was now resumed. I occupied the turret all alone, and passed buckets from the lower hatchway to the man on the top of the turret. I took off my coat - one that I had received from home only a few days before (I could not feel that our noble little ship was yet lost) - and rolling it up with my boots, drew the tampion from one of the guns, placed them inside, and replaced the tampion. A black cat was sitting on the breech of one of the guns, howling one of those hoarse and solemn tunes which no one can appreciate who is not filled with the superstitions which I had been taught by the sailors, who are always afraid to kill a cat. I would almost as soon have touched a ghost, but I caught her, and placing her in another gun, replaced the wad and tampion; but I could still hear that distressing yowl. As I raised my last bucket to the upper hatchway no one was there to take it. I scrambled up the ladder and found that we below had been deserted. I shouted to those on the berth-deck, "Come up; the officers have left the ship and a boat is alongside."

As I reached the top of the turret I saw a boat made fast on the weather quarter filled with men. Three others were standing on deck trying to get on board. One man was floating leeward, shouting in vain for help; another, who hurriedly passed me and jumped down from the turret, was swept off by a breaking wave and never rose. I was excited, feeling that it was the only chance to be saved. I made a loose line fast to one of the stanchions, and let myself down from the turret, the ladder having been washed away. The moment I struck the deck the sea broke over it and swept me as I had seen it sweep my shipmates. I grasped one of the smoke-stack braces and, hand-over-hand, ascended to keep my head above water. It required all my strength to keep the sea from tearing me away. As it swept from the vessel I found myself dangling in the air nearly at the top of the smoke-stack. I let myself fall, and succeeded in reaching a life-line that encircled the deck by means of short stanchions, and to which the boat was attached. The sea again broke over us, lifting me feet upward as I still clung to the life-line. I thought I had nearly measured the depth of the ocean, when I felt the turn, and as my head rose above the water I was somewhat dazed from being so nearly drowned, and spouted up, it seemed, more than a gallon of water that had found its way into my lungs. I was then about twenty feet from the other men, whom I found to be the captain and one seaman, the other had been washed overboard and was now struggling in the water. The men in the boat were pushing back on their oars to keep the boat from being washed on to the Monitor's deck, so that the boat had to be hauled in by the painter about ten or twelve feet. The first lieutenant, S. D. Greene, and other officers in the boat, were shouting, "Is the captain on board?" and, with severe struggles to have our voices heard above the roar of the wind and sea, we were shouting "No," and trying to haul in the boat, which we at last succeeded in doing. The captain, ever caring for his men, requested us to get in, but we both, in the same voice, told him to get in first. The moment he was over the bows of the boat Lieutenant Greene cried, "Cut the painter! Cut the painter!" I thought, "Now or lost," and in less time than I can explain it, exerting my strength beyond imagination, I hauled in the boat, sprang, caught on the gunwale, was pulled into the boat with a boar-hook in the hands of one of the men, and took my seat with one of the oarsmen. The other man, named Thomas Joice, managed to get into the boat in some way, I cannot tell how, and he was the last man saved from that ill-fated ship. As we were cut loose I saw several men standing on top of the turret, apparently afraid to venture down upon deck, and it may have been that they were deterred by seeing others washed overboard while I was getting into the boat.

As I reached the top of the turret I saw a boat made fast on the weather quarter filled with men. Three others were standing on deck trying to get on board. One man was floating leeward, shouting in vain for help; another, who hurriedly passed me and jumped down from the turret, was swept off by a breaking wave and never rose. I was excited, feeling that it was the only chance to be saved. I made a loose line fast to one of the stanchions, and let myself down from the turret, the ladder having been washed away. The moment I struck the deck the sea broke over it and swept me as I had seen it sweep my shipmates. I grasped one of the smoke-stack braces and, hand-over-hand, ascended to keep my head above water. It required all my strength to keep the sea from tearing me away. As it swept from the vessel I found myself dangling in the air nearly at the top of the smoke-stack. I let myself fall, and succeeded in reaching a life-line that encircled the deck by means of short stanchions, and to which the boat was attached. The sea again broke over us, lifting me feet upward as I still clung to the life-line. I thought I had nearly measured the depth of the ocean, when I felt the turn, and as my head rose above the water I was somewhat dazed from being so nearly drowned, and spouted up, it seemed, more than a gallon of water that had found its way into my lungs. I was then about twenty feet from the other men, whom I found to be the captain and one seaman, the other had been washed overboard and was now struggling in the water. The men in the boat were pushing back on their oars to keep the boat from being washed on to the Monitor's deck, so that the boat had to be hauled in by the painter about ten or twelve feet. The first lieutenant, S. D. Greene, and other officers in the boat, were shouting, "Is the captain on board?" and, with severe struggles to have our voices heard above the roar of the wind and sea, we were shouting "No," and trying to haul in the boat, which we at last succeeded in doing. The captain, ever caring for his men, requested us to get in, but we both, in the same voice, told him to get in first. The moment he was over the bows of the boat Lieutenant Greene cried, "Cut the painter! Cut the painter!" I thought, "Now or lost," and in less time than I can explain it, exerting my strength beyond imagination, I hauled in the boat, sprang, caught on the gunwale, was pulled into the boat with a boar-hook in the hands of one of the men, and took my seat with one of the oarsmen. The other man, named Thomas Joice, managed to get into the boat in some way, I cannot tell how, and he was the last man saved from that ill-fated ship. As we were cut loose I saw several men standing on top of the turret, apparently afraid to venture down upon deck, and it may have been that they were deterred by seeing others washed overboard while I was getting into the boat.

After a fearful and dangerous passage over the frantic seas, we reached the Rhode Island, which still had the tow-line caught in her wheel and had drifted perhaps two miles to leeward. We came alongside under the lee bows, where the first boat, that had left the Monitor nearly an hour before, had just discharged its men; but we found that getting on board the Rhode Island was a harder task than getting from the Monitor. We were carried by the sea from stem to stern, for to have made fast would have been fatal; the boat was bounding against the ship's sides; sometimes it was below the wheel, and then, on the summit of a huge wave, far above the decks; then the two boats would crash together; and once, while Surgeon Weeks was holding on to the rail, he lost his fingers by a collision which swamped the other boat. Lines were thrown to us from the deck of the Rhode Island, which were of no assistance, for not one of us could climb a small rope; and besides, the men who threw them would immediately let go their holds, in their excitement, to throw another - which I found to be the case when I kept hauling in rope instead of climbing.

It must be understood that two vessels lying side by side, when there is any motion to the sea, move alternately; or in other words, one is constantly passing the other up or down. At one time, when our boat was near the bows of the steamer, we would rise upon the sea until we could touch her rail; then in an instant, by a very rapid descent, we could touch her keel. While we were thus rising and falling upon the sea, I caught a rope, and rising with the boat managed to reach within a foot or two of the rail, when a man, if there had been one, could easily have hauled me on board. But they had all followed after the boat, which at that instant was washed astern and I hung dangling in the air over the bow of the Rhode Island, with Ensign Norman Atwater hanging to the cat-head, three or four feet from me, like myself, with both hands clinching a rope and shouting for some one to save him. Our hands grew painful and all the time weaker, until I saw his strength give way. He slipped a foot, caught again, and with his last prayer, "O God!" I saw him fall and sink, to rise no more. The ship rolled, and rose upon the sea, sometimes with her keel out of water, so that I was hanging thirty feet above the sea, and with the fate in view that had befallen our much-beloved companion, which no one had witnessed but myself. I still clung to the rope with aching hands, calling in vain for help. But I could not be heard, for the wind shrieked far above my voice. My heart here, for the only time in my life, gave up hope, and home and friends were most tenderly thought of. While I was in this state, within a few seconds of giving up, the sea rolled forward, bringing with it the boat, and when I would have fallen into the sea, it was there. I can only recollect hearing an old sailor say, as I fell into the bottom of the boat, "Where in ---- did he come from?"

When I became aware of what was going on, no one had succeeded in getting out of the boat, which then lay just forward of the wheel-house. Our captain ordered them to throw bowlines, which was immediately done. The second one I caught, and, placing myself within the loop, was hauled on board. I assisted in helping the others out of the boat, when it again went back to the Monitor; it did not reach it, however, and after drifting about on the ocean several days it was picked up by a passing vessel and carried to Philadelphia.

It was half-past twelve, the night of the thirty-first of December, 1862, when I stood on the forecastle of the Rhode Island, watching the red and white lights that hung from the pennant-staff above the turret, and which now and then were seen as we would perhaps both rise on the sea together, until at last, just as the moon had passed below the horizon, they were lost, and the Monitor, whose history is familiar to us all, was seen no more.

The Rhode Island cruised about the scene of the disaster the remainder of the night and the next forenoon in hope of finding the boat that had been lost; then she returned direct to Fort Monroe, where we arrived the next day with our melancholy news.

This day in history....

The USS Monitor runs into a Nor'Easter and begins taking on water off Cape Hatteras. More on what happens tomorrow...............

Christmas in 1776

Let us not forget those who came before us.......

Christmas Day, 1776: 'Victory or Death'
by George F. Smith

On Christmas Day, 1776, a few Americans gave us the first installment of a gift we have all but lost.

After the makeshift American army under George Washington's command ousted the redcoats from Boston in early 1776, the British moved to New York City, where they launched an invasion in August. Washington met them head-on and suffered devastating defeats, and survived only by fleeing from the enemy.

During the sleepless nights and hungry days of their retreat across New Jersey, Washington had hoped to pick up support from the locals. But the opposite turned out to be true: In Newark, for instance, only 30 turned out to join the Americans, while on the same day 300 New Jerseyans fell in for the British.

By the time he escaped across the Delaware River into Bucks County, Pennsylvania, Washington had only 3,000 of his original 20,000 troops. Seeing American forces arriving in retreat only twelve miles from where they sat in Philadelphia, Congress exposed their backbone: They panicked, made excuses and fled. They gave Washington dictatorial powers and went into hiding in Baltimore, 110 miles to the south.

"The game is pretty near up," Washington wrote in a letter to his cousin in Virginia. Even the Bucks County militia let him down. Desperate for troops, he had ordered them called out, but they turned Loyalist, and he had to dismiss them.

As winter set in, Washington made headquarters in William McKonkey's three-story stone house on the west side of the Delaware. British commander William Howe had written to his superior in England, Lord Germaine, telling of the severity of the December weather. For that reason he would go into winter quarters until spring, leaving his men spread over numerous New Jersey outposts, ready to march at a moment's notice. He admitted, though, that the chain of outposts was too extensive.

Lord Charles Cornwallis, Howe's field commander, decided to garrison the outposts with Hessian mercenaries and send the British troops back to New York. He himself was anxious to return to his wife in England, while Howe continued his affair in New York with the wife of one of his officers. Cornwallis left command of New Jersey in the hands of the cocky and thoroughly mediocre General James Grant.

In the 100-house village of Trenton, the outpost closest to Washington, the 1,600 Hessians were under command of Colonel Johann Gottlieb Rall, a hard-drinking gambler whose troops had a reputation for plunder and rape. Once encamped. they proceeded to demonstrate their reputation. Hessian brutality swung many New Jersey neutrals to the American cause. Instead of tacking red ribbons to their doors indicating their loyalty to the Crown, they formed militia bands to ambush Hessian patrols. In his diary, one Hessian officer complained "we have not slept one night in peace since we came to this place." [1] He wrote this passage in Trenton, on Christmas Eve.

History tells us of the desperate condition of Washington's men - their ragged clothes, their lack of shoes, their chronic hunger. While this was true, it was also carefully exaggerated. Making excellent use of spies, Washington led the British to believe his condition was completely hopeless. Thus, when Rall complained to General Grant that his position was too much exposed, Grant dismissed it as ludicrous, since Washington was all but decimated. Besides, after December 31 Washington would not even have an army, since the term of service would expire for most of his men.

Perhaps at the suggestion of Benedict Arnold, Washington decided to attack Trenton while the Hessians slept off the effects of their Christmas celebration. It was do or die time; if he didn't take Trenton, the American cause was dead.

Benjamin Rush, one of the few members of Congress who remained in Philadelphia, paid Washington a visit on the morning of December 24, 1776. Seeing the general depressed, Rush tried to boost his spirits with talk about Congress being behind him, even as they ran like cowards. As they talked, Rush noticed Washington scribbling on scraps of paper, one of which fell to the floor. Rush picked it up and read, "Victory or Death." It was the watchword for the attack on Trenton.

The following afternoon, Christmas Day, Washington gave his officers their marching orders. They included a special oratory they would read to their men, in an attempt to boost their morale. Earlier that month, Tom Paine had written a new essay on a drumhead in General Nathanael Greene's tent as the American army retreated across New Jersey. Called The American Crisis, Paine had it printed in Philadelphia on December 19. As the troops prepared to climb aboard the boats and cross the Delaware, with a winter storm kicking up, they heard Paine's opening words: "These are the times that try men's souls." They would not forget them.

Under the direction of Marblehead ship captain John Glover, the first boats pushed off from McKonkey's Ferry at two in the afternoon. It took fourteen hours to transport men, horses, and artillery across the river. Ice floes crunched against the sides of the 60-foot Durham iron-ore barges as the boatmen, sleet slashing their eyes, poled the crafts over and back.

Meanwhile, in Trenton, Rall had eaten a hearty meal and retired for a game of cards with a few of his aides and his host, a man named Abraham Hunt. Shortly after midnight a shivering Loyalist from Bucks County showed up at the door with a written message, handing it to a servant. Rall refused to be disturbed and tucked the note into his waistcoat pocket without reading it.

At 4:00 a.m. the American troops began their ten-mile march to Trenton along River Road. Washington, from his tall chestnut horse, urged his men to keep moving and stay with their officers. Two men stopped to rest - and froze to death. At Birmingham, the force split into two divisions. One, led by Nathanael Greene, swung off to the east to skirt the town, while the other, under John Sullivan's command, headed straight for the main Hessian barracks on King Street.

At 8:00 a.m. Sullivan's advance guard rushed the ten Hessian pickets outside the barracks. Three minutes later Washington ordered the rest of the men to storm the town. As they fell upon the enemy, many of them shouted, "This is the time to try men's souls!" [2] With their gunpowder soaked and useless, Sullivan's men relied on the bayonet to roust the Hessians out of the houses. Earlier in New York, Rall's men had mercilessly slaughtered Americans as they tried to surrender. It was a gratifying sight to see the Hessians turning and running.

Sodden from the previous night's celebrations, some Hessian units threw on their coats and tried to form ranks in the streets. As they did, they were cut down by Henry Knox's six-pounders firing from the ends of Trenton's two main streets.

Rall finally broke from the Hunt house, jumped on his horse and galloped toward his regiment, who were marching down King Street to the sounds of fifes, bugles, and drums while being showered with grapeshot. "Lord, Lord, what is it, what is it?" he kept shouting in German. As he tried unsuccessfully to organize a bayonet charge, he was hit twice and assisted into the Queen Street Methodist Church. While he lay dying, someone noticed the unread note in his pocket: the American army was marching on Trenton.

Minutes later the remaining Hessian officers put their hats on their swords, the corporals lowered their flags, and the infantry men grounded their arms. The Battle of Trenton was over. The Americans had suffered four casualties to the two hundred Hessians killed and wounded. Some of the Hessians had escaped and would alert the Hessian unit at Princeton. After a brief council with his officers, Washington decided his men were in no shape to take on more Hessians that day, so they headed back to McKonkey's Ferry with captured weapons, supplies, and 948 prisoners.

It took them twelve hours to recross the Delaware. The weather had gotten so cold Americans and Hessians had to stamp their feet in time in the boats to break up the new ice that was slowing their passage. When the Continental troops finally collapsed into their tents, they had gone forty-eight hours without food, almost as long without sleep, and had marched 25 miles in freezing weather.

They also won a critical victory for independence and liberty. While no war is good, defensive wars are sometimes necessary. Our forefathers knew this. That's why some of them went marching, 226 years ago.


References

1. Randall, William Sterne, George Washington: A Life, Owl Books, Henry Holt & Company, New York, 1998, p. 321.

2. Rothbard, Murray N., Conceived in Liberty, Vol. IV, Mises Institute, Auburn, Alabama, 1999, pp. 198-199.

It's a Wonderful Life!

I was listening to "It's a Wonderful Life" radio drama on the way to work this morning. One of the local radio stations usually airs it sometime on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. It just so happens that this year they chose Christmas Eve. I think we all have days like "George Bailey" faced and wish we weren't even born. However, I believe that everyone is here on this earth for a reason. Much like tossing a pebble in a calm pool of water which result in ripples throughout the water, we affect those around us. When life hits you like a ton of bricks, just think of ole "George Bailey". Remember the good things we do that make a difference in others' lives. I would just like to take a moment to thank all of those who have made a difference in my life! Those tiny ripples that everyone has made around me have made me the person I am today. To you and yours, Merry Christmas!

Christmas in Dixie!

Saturday was an interesting day for me and the gang. The 5NC visited Historic Halifax to help with their annual Christmas program. During the day, we took over the "Tap Room", a recreated tavern, munching on period goodies supplied by our own Chris Barber and listening to some delightful dolcimer music. Our normal demonstrations were brought to a close around 2:30pm when we headed off to form a color guard behind Halifax's town crier. Behind us was a line of parade participants as long as the eye could see. Just picture it....Bill Barber, Andrew Duppstadt, Hank Brown and myself, trodging through the streets with onlookers giving us a friendly wave. Up to this point, things were pretty much tame until we reached the end and gathered up in front of the tavern to finish watching the procession reach its conclusion. The next thing we knew, we heard tires squalling and sirens blaring. What was causing this commontion, you might ask? It was "Luke and Daisy" in the "General Lee" being chased by "Rosco P. Coltrain" (Kudyudyud!), his stuffed dog, Flash and "Boss J. D. Hogg"! Much to our suprise, they stopped in front of the tavern to have their picture taken with us. What a way to end a perfect day! My Christmas is now complete!