Whereon the wild thyme blowswhile for the return of her soldier boy the one faithful heart watched and waited for in vain. We halted for a considerable time somewhere near the Appomattox towards nightfall. We crossed the river at night on a pontoon bridge strongly guarded, and covered with pine tags very thickly to deaden the sound. A line of horsemen on either side, wedged closely together, effectually prevented any attempt to escape. Every few steps as we passed down to the river and over the bridge was a sentinal. The gloominess of the forest, the darkness of the night and the perfect stillness prevailing were oppressive to our spirits. To me it looked as if we were approaching the gates of the Inferno, over whose forbidding portals was written ‘Who enters here leaves hope behind.’ Completely broken down, dirty and miserable, on reaching the enemy's camp we were shut up in a dirty negro cabin, where we spent a wretched night. There was not even enough room for all to lie down upon the hard floor, and those who were wounded suffered a good deal, having to lie in a constrained posture all night. When the morning came we were allowed to come out and wash our faces and otherwise refresh ourselves as best we could. Our breakfast consisted chiefly of fat pork, hard tack, a few miserable Irish potatoes and sour krout. Some got coffee, others less fortunate went without. How we longed for some old Virginia corn bread and bacon! but alas, we might as well have wished for the heavens to drop manna.
And the nodding violet grows,
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