John D. Billings, The history of the Tenth Massachusetts battery of light artillery in the war of the rebellion

[46] long expected and now much desired order to move was received. It arrived Christmas day, which this year came on Thursday. The evening was spent in packing up and making all necessary preparations for departure on the morrow.¹

At this place we took our first lesson in sundering tender ties that had grown up between ourselves and the little conveniences we had devised and arranged to make camp life more cosy and comfortable. The amount of baggage we could take was necessarily limited, and such a selection should be made as would result only in the ‘survival of the fittest.’ any little knick-knacks sent from home must be left behind, or in some inconceivable way taken along; and this experience was repeated over and over again in our subsequent history, more especially when about to leave winter-quarters. No one not a soldier can appreciate the emotions of the soldiers when the time came for them to part with the little seven-by-nine huts they had made their homes for a few weeks,—structures rude enough at best, but to which they were none the less attached,—fitted up with bunks, closets, shelves, fireplaces, and other such conveniences; intimately associated, too, with social pastimes and dreams, and news of home and dear ones. These they must leave to go, whither? to return—in all probability never; for in the uncertainties attending the duration of human life in active service, that very day might be their last on earth. Can it be wondered at, then, that like the Indians, as stated by Story, they should turn and take a last sad look at the roofless houses they were leaving behind?

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