Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 5.
Frank Moore, Ed.

The pleasures of Picketing.

One of the pleasant incidents of warfare, which every one has not the pleasure of witnessing, the members of company A participated in yesterday. We were detailed to do picket-duty on the outposts. We started with a company of the New-York Eighty-sixth, at two o'clock Thursday afternoon. When we arrived at our post, I concluded that we had got into a hornet's nest, by the buzzing of the little messengers [34] by our ears. We were stationed on Warwick Creek, and the enemy's pickets were on the opposite side, about six hundred yards above. They kept up a continual fire during the afternoon, and the way some of their bullets whistled past our heads, if we poked them from behind a tree, inclined us to believe that they were well armed, and understood their use. Our orders were not to fire back, but, in violation of orders, a stray shot would once in a while find its way to the opposite side, to let them know that we still lived. This firing was kept up until dark, when the tongue superseded the rifle. Now came the tug of war. Epithets were hurled spitefully across Warwick's turbid waters. The burden of their song appeared to be: “We will give you Bull Run.” “What do you think of Corinth?” “You can have Yorktown if you can take it.” “You are five to one, but you can't whip us;” to which latter assertion one of our boys replied, that it was so, as it took four Yankees to catch one of them, for one of us to whip. They finally came to the conclusion, they could not out-talk us in that style, so they tried another tack, made all manners of inquiries, of how we lived? what State we were from? etc. They informed us that they were from South-Carolina, and if we would not fire upon them in the morning, they would come out and talk with us.

Morning came, and with it a friendly conversation ensued, at first under cover of trees, and as they gained confidence, either party came out from cover. They told us that they lived principally upon fresh meat and “sponge” --soft bread; “shingles” --hard bread — had played out with them. Salt was not within their limits, it being twenty dollars a sack. Coffee could not be got — it was a luxury not enjoyed by a soldier. We asked them if they had any “salt-junk?” No, they had not got down to pickled mule, yet.

The Monitor, they averred, was a humbug; the Merrimac a big thing. She was not injured by the Monitor, but broke off her iron prow by collision with the Cumberland; had been on the dry dock, and was launched the day before. They had a large story of our being whipped at Corinth, but since then their pickets have owned up that they were well used — up at that point.

They are not allowed to read any thing but the Richmond Dispatch, and they said that lied like h--. When the time came for them to be relieved, they told us to look out for ourselves, as there was a new crowd coming on, and they would .not be responsible for what they would do. And sure enough, in a short time the ball was again opened by whistling bullets from our opposing friends. They told us that Gen. Magruder was on a drunk the day before, and was putting on his airs, as usual, when in that condition. We were thirty hours on this picket, and all were well pleased with the novelty of the service.