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July 1st (search for this): chapter 3.34
— as we may be to-night, old fellow; and I remember once a noble boy of the Black horse, or Radford's regiment, was brought back dead, wrapped in an oil-cloth which his sister had taken from her piano and given him to sleep on. Poor thing! she must have cried when she heard of that; but there has been a good 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
July 16th (search for this): chapter 3.34
leasure 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 canister-say three of canister. I depended, therefore, upon three rounds of canister to drive back the Grand Army, and undertook it with alarcrity. I continued hungry, however, and grew hungrier as night fell, on the 16th July. At daylight I was waked by guns in front, and found myself hungrier than 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
August (search for this): chapter 3.34
I was looking at them just now through my glass, and I am glad to say one of the blue-coats was slapping his arms violently against his breast to keep up the circulation. Pleasant; for if anything can increase the comfort of a fire like 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 — 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
July, 1861 AD (search for this): chapter 3.34
tless is fed with green wood. We could spare them a few rails, eh? But then to communicate with them is against orders. I believe they come down here from pure curiosity, and rather like to be taken prisoner. But it takes a good 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 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 cavalry, and the blue of the infantry,
1862 AD (search for this): chapter 3.34
Blunderbus on picket. scene.-Banks of the Rappahannock, in the winter of 1862-3; a camp-fire blazing under an oak, and Captain Blunderbus conversing with a Staff Officer on inspection duty — the picket stationed near, and opposite the enemy. Blunderbus loquitur.- This is pleasant-picketing always is. Uncommonly dark, however — the night black but comely, and that frosty moon yonder trying to shine, and dance on the ripples of the river! 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 c
1863 AD (search for this): chapter 3.34
Blunderbus on picket. scene.-Banks of the Rappahannock, in the winter of 1862-3; a camp-fire blazing under an oak, and Captain Blunderbus conversing with a Staff Officer on inspection duty — the picket stationed near, and opposite the enemy. Blunderbus loquitur.- This is pleasant-picketing always is. Uncommonly dark, however — the night black but comely, and that frosty moon yonder trying to shine, and dance on the ripples of the river! 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
Banks (search for this): chapter 3.34
Blunderbus on picket. scene.-Banks of the Rappahannock, in the winter of 1862-3; a camp-fire blazing under an oak, and Captain Blunderbus conversing with a Staff Officer on inspection duty — the picket stationed near, and opposite the enemy. Blunderbus loquitur.- This is pleasant-picketing always is. Uncommonly dark, however — the night black but comely, and that frosty moon yonder trying to shine, and dance on the ripples of the river! 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
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,
Blunderbus (search for this): chapter 3.34
1862-3; a camp-fire blazing under an oak, and Captain Blunderbus conversing with a Staff Officer on inspections as they come! If ever you hear people say that Blunderbus is a mere trooper, old fellow — that he cares forut a tremendous warrior, which will be a lie; for Blunderbus is only an old Captain of Cavalry, good at few thld would know exactly how the truth was. Oh, that Blunderbus was an author! I have my doubts about the figglass frame. I shouldn't wonder if they made me, Blunderbus, the old bear, a perfect carpet knight --all airs shirt or no. （Tickler extends the canteen, which Blunderbus takes, offers his friend, and drinks from.) Ticklt such bad fellows after all, my dear friend; and Blunderbus will answer for their peaceful propensities. Notund, one from a long-range Spencer rifle striking Blunderbus on the buckle of his sword belt, and knocking him the oak. Ha! ha! You are a philosopher, my dear Blunderbus, and a real peace missionary-but the force of cir
Bonham (search for this): chapter 3.34
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 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 enGeneral 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 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 horse, or Radford's regiment, was brought back dead, wrapped in an oil-cloth which his sister had taken from her piano and
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