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Winchester, Va. (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 3.34
iver! Don't you think it would look better if you saw it from the porch at home, with Mary or Fanny by your side? Picturesque, but not warm. Pile on the rails, my boy; never mind the expense. The Confederacy pays-or don't pay — for all the fences; and nothing warms the feet, expands the soul, and makes the spirits cheerful like a good rail-fire. I was reading in an old paper, the other day, some poetry-writing which they said was found on the body of one of Stonewall's sergeants at Winchester — a song he called Jackson's way. He tells his comrades to pile on the rails, and says, No matter if the canteen fails, We'll make a roaring light! Sensible-and speaking of canteens, is there anything in yours, my boy? Nothing. Such is fate! I was born unlucky, and always will be so. Now a drop of brandy would not have been bad to-night; or say a mouthful of whiskey, or a little apple or peach-brandy, gin, madeira, sherry, claret, or even bottled porter, crab-cider or champagne!
Centreville (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 3.34
ever. At sunrise a gentleman on a white horse passed by at a gallop, with the cheerful words: Gentlemen, the enemy are upon you! and the cannoners were ranged at the gun, with the infantry support disposed upon the flanks. All was ready, the piece loaded, the lanyard-hook passed through the ring of the primer, and the sharpshooters of the enemy had appeared on the edge of the woods, when they sent us an order to retire. We accordingly retired, and continued to retire until we reached Centreville, halting on the hill there. We were posted in battery there, and lay down-very hungry. A cracker I had borrowed did not allay hunger; and had a dozen Yankees been drawn up between me and a hot supper, I should have charged them with the spirit of Winkelreid, when he swept the Austrian spears in his embrace, and made a gap for liberty. We did not fight there, however; we were only carrying out General Beauregard's plan for drawing on the enemy to Bull Run, where he was ready for them.
Manassas, Va. (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 3.34
e this, it is the consciousness that our friends over the way are shivering by one that won't burn. I believe I will smoke. Nothing assists intellectual conversation like a pipe. Help yourself. You will find that pouch-Yankee plunder from Manassas last August-full of the real article, and the best you ever smoked. It is real, pure Lynchburg-brown, free from stems, and perfumed with the native aroma of the weed. Smoke, guest of mine! That brand is warranted to drive off all blue-devils deal to feed them. We want all our provisions. Often I have been nearly starved, and I assure you starving is a disagreeable process. I have tried it several times, and I can tell you where I first experienced the sensation in full force. At Manassas, in July, 1861. I was in the artillery then, and had command of a gun, which gun was attached to a battery, which battery was a part of General Bonham's brigade. Now General Bonham commanded the advance force of Beauregard's army, and was s
United States (United States) (search for this): chapter 3.34
od deal of crying during the present war. Kick that rail-end up. It makes me melancholy to see a fire dying down. Well, we had a pleasant time in the small village of Fairfax, until one July day my gun was ordered to a breastwork not far off, and I heard that the Grand army was coming. Now I was thinking about the Commissary department when I heard this news, for we had had nothing to eat for a day nearly; but I went to work, finishing the embrasure for my piece. Bags marked The Confederate States were filled with sand and piled up skilfully; trees obstructing the range were chopped down rapidly; and then, stepping off the ground from the earthwork to the woods from which the enemy would issue, I had the pleasure of perceiving that the foe would be compelled to pass over at least four hundred and thirty yards before reaching me with the bayonet. Now in four hundred and thirty yards you can fire, before an enemy gets up to you, about one round of solid shot, and two rounds of ca
Jackson County (West Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 3.34
ld look better if you saw it from the porch at home, with Mary or Fanny by your side? Picturesque, but not warm. Pile on the rails, my boy; never mind the expense. The Confederacy pays-or don't pay — for all the fences; and nothing warms the feet, expands the soul, and makes the spirits cheerful like a good rail-fire. I was reading in an old paper, the other day, some poetry-writing which they said was found on the body of one of Stonewall's sergeants at Winchester — a song he called Jackson's way. He tells his comrades to pile on the rails, and says, No matter if the canteen fails, We'll make a roaring light! Sensible-and speaking of canteens, is there anything in yours, my boy? Nothing. Such is fate! I was born unlucky, and always will be so. Now a drop of brandy would not have been bad to-night; or say a mouthful of whiskey, or a little apple or peach-brandy, gin, madeira, sherry, claret, or even bottled porter, crab-cider or champagne! Any of these would have com
Bull Run, Va. (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 3.34
s in his embrace, and made a gap for liberty. We did not fight there, however; we were only carrying out General Beauregard's plan for drawing on the enemy to Bull Run, where he was ready for them. At midnight we limbered up, the infantry and cavalry began to move, blue and red signal rockets were thrown up, and the little army slowly retired before the enemy, reaching the southern flank of Bull Run at daylight. The Federals were close upon our heels, and about ten o'clock commenced the first fight there, the battle of the 18th. Now when I arrived at Bull Run, I was hungry enough to eat a wolf. I lay down on the wet ground, and thought of various Bull Run, I was hungry enough to eat a wolf. I lay down on the wet ground, and thought of various appetizing bills of fare. Visions of roast beef, coffee, juleps, and other Elysian things rose before my starving eyes; and the first guns of the enemy, crashing their round shot through the trees overhead, scarcely attracted my attention. I grew hungrier and hungrier-things had grown to a desperate pitch, whenbeautiful even in
Africa (search for this): chapter 3.34
rceptible gesture, and indicating his tin canteen, gave me an inquiring look. In the service this pantomime always expresses a willingness to drink your health and pass the bottle. I so understand itand retiring from the crowd, swallowed a mouthful of the liquid. It was excellent whiskey, and my faintness from hunger and exhaustion made the effect magical. New life and strength filled my frame-and turning round, I was saluted by an excellent breakfast held out to me by the venerable old African cook! Ye gods! how that breakfast tasted! The animal from which that ham was cut must surely have been fattened on ambrosia; and the hot, black coffee was a tin cup full of nectar in disguise! When I had finished that meal I was a man again. I had been in a dangerous mood before-my patriotism had cooled, my convictions were shaken. I had doubted of the Republic, and thought the Confederacy in the wrong, perhaps. But now all was changed. From that moment I was a true Southerner ag
Fairfax, Va. (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 3.34
y, which battery was a part of General Bonham's brigade. Now General Bonham commanded the advance force of Beauregard's army, and was stationed at the village of Fairfax. Well, we had a gay time at Fairfax in those early months of the war, playing at soldiering, and laughing at the enemy for not advancing. The red cuffs of the Fairfax in those early months of the war, playing at soldiering, and laughing at the enemy for not advancing. The red cuffs of the artillery, the yellow of the cavalry, and the blue of the infantry, were all popular in the eyes of the village beauties, and rarely did anything of a melancholy character interfere with our pleasures. Sometimes a cavalry-man would be shot on picket — as we may be to-night, old fellow; and I remember once a noble boy of the Black f crying during the present war. Kick that rail-end up. It makes me melancholy to see a fire dying down. Well, we had a pleasant time in the small village of Fairfax, until one July day my gun was ordered to a breastwork not far off, and I heard that the Grand army was coming. Now I was thinking about the Commissary departmen
Beauregard (search for this): chapter 3.34
in full force. At Manassas, in July, 1861. I was in the artillery then, and had command of a gun, which gun was attached to a battery, which battery was a part of General Bonham's brigade. Now General Bonham commanded the advance force of Beauregard's army, and was stationed at the village of Fairfax. Well, we had a gay time at Fairfax in those early months of the war, playing at soldiering, and laughing at the enemy for not advancing. The red cuffs of the artillery, the yellow of the cbeen drawn up between me and a hot supper, I should have charged them with the spirit of Winkelreid, when he swept the Austrian spears in his embrace, and made a gap for liberty. We did not fight there, however; we were only carrying out General Beauregard's plan for drawing on the enemy to Bull Run, where he was ready for them. At midnight we limbered up, the infantry and cavalry began to move, blue and red signal rockets were thrown up, and the little army slowly retired before the enemy,
Raleigh (search for this): chapter 3.34
l article, and the best you ever smoked. It is real, pure Lynchburg-brown, free from stems, and perfumed with the native aroma of the weed. Smoke, guest of mine! That brand is warranted to drive off all blue-devils — to wrap the soul in Elysian dreams of real Java coffee, English boots, French wines, and no blockade. There are men, I am told, who don't smoke. I pity ‘em! How do they sustain existence, or talk or think? All real philosophers use the magical weed; and I always thought Raleigh, when I used to read about him, the most sensible man of his time, because he smoked. I have no doubt Shakespeare carried a pipe about, and wrote his plays with it in his mouth. I'll trouble you to hand me that chunk when you are done with it. Thank you. Now the summit glows; the mysterious depths are illumined. All right; I am lit. This is soothing; all care departs when you smoke a good pipe. Existence assumes a smiling and bright aspect; all things are rose-coloured. I find m
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