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 camp routine each man had his precise position and every hour its prescribed duties, the chaplain alone held a vague and indefinite place, and had to fill his own hours and lay out his own plan of work. This left his whole sphere of usefulness to be determined by his personal qualities. To the man of strength and tact, this freedom was an advantage, and he often created for himself a position of vast influence; but the weak or tactless man found himself pushed aside, the mechanism provided no place for him such as it created for all others; he degenerated into the mere postmaster of the regiment or the caterer for the officers' mess. It was fortunate if actual demoralization did not follow. Sometimes the very spirit of adventure, having no legitimate channel, led him astray, as with the Massachusetts chaplain of one of the early colored regiments at the South, of whom a soldier said, ‘Woffer Mars' Chapman [chaplain] made a preacher for? He's de fightin'est more Yankee I eber see in all my days.’ This adventurous person, volunteering on a perilous scouting expedition, was captured by the enemy and held a prisoner for a year, at a time when non-combatant chaplains were promptly exchanged. Apart from such extremes, we often come upon hints, in the books of personal reminiscences, of the errors or incompetence of individual chaplains.1 On the other hand, there was no limit to the respect and gratitude inspired by some other Massachusetts chaplains, as, for instance, Rev. G. S. Ball (21st Infantry) and Rev. J. F. Moors (52d Infantry). To these might be added Father Scully (9th Infantry), whom Sheridan is said to have pronounced ‘the pluckiest little devil of a chaplain’ he ever saw. It is a merit of civil war, that, while often bitterer than any other, it usually discloses little of the incidental or secondary cruelties of war,—as personal outrage or torture, wanton havoc or personal plunder. Of plundering there was a good deal at the outset, and there is little doubt that there were serious frauds, in some directions, as to the cotton supply; but ‘loot,’ in the sense so familiar in British army life, occurs very little as a factor. Where it existed, it was carefully concealed, not proclaimed. No American soldier would have bragged of his commander's stolen possessions, as English soldiers spoke freely, for instance, of Lord Wolseley's. An English military writer, speaking of that officer's frequent ill-luck, says frankly: ‘Upon the loot of Lucknow an officer gave him a valuable ’
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