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the cultivated country towards Richmond.
And so, after inspecting more of Benjamin's apple-pie batteries, we went home.
August 6, 1864
I took a limited ride along our flank defences, where I discovered a patriotic sentry, sitting with his back to where the enemy might be supposed to come, and reading a novel!
He belonged to the 7th Indiana. “What are your instructions?”
say I. “Han't got none,” replies the peruser of novels.
“Then what are you here for?”
“Well, I am a kind of an alarm sentinel,” said this literary militaire.
“Call the corporal of the guard,” said I, feeling much disposed to laugh.
The sentry looked about a little and then singling out a friend, called out: “Oh, Jim, why, won't you just ask Jeremiah Miles to step this way?”
After some delay, Jeremiah appeared.
He was in a pleasing state of ignorance.
Did not know the sentry's instructions, did not know who the officer of the guard was, did not know much of anything.
“Well,” said I, “now suppose you go and find the sergeant of the guard.”
This he did with great alacrity.
The sergeant, as became his office, knew more than the corporal.
He was clear that the sentry should not read a book; also that his conduct in sitting down was eccentric; but, when it came to who was the officer of the guard, his naturally fine mind broke down.
He knew the officer if he saw him, but could not remember his name.
This he would say, the officer was a lieutenant.
“Suppose you should try to find him,” suggested I. Of course that he could do; and soon the “Loo-tenant” appeared.
To him I talked like a father; almost like a grandfather, in fact; showed him the man's musket was rusty and that he was no good whatsoever.
Loo-tenant had not much to say; indeed, so to speak, nothing; and I left him with a 