Paper No. 1. -- The Outfit Modified

        With the men who composed the Army of Northern Virginia will die the memory of those little things which made the Confederate soldier peculiarly what he was.
        The historian who essays to write the "grand movements" will hardly stop to tell how the hungry private fried his bacon, baked his biscuit and smoked his pipe; how he was changed from time to time by the necessities of the service, until the gentleman, the student, the merchant, the mechanic and the farmer were merged into a perfect, all enduring, never tiring and invincible soldier. To preserve these little details, familiar to all soldiers, and by them not thought worthy of mention to others, because of their familiarity, but still dear to them and always the substance of their "war talks," is the object of this paper.
        The volunteer of 1861 made extensive preparations for the field. Boots, he thought, were an absolute necessity, and the heavier the soles and longer the tops the better. His pants were stuffed inside the tops of his boots, of course. A double-breasted coat, heavily wadded, with two rows of big brass buttons and a long skirt, was considered comfortable. A small stiff cap, with a narrow brim, took the place of the comfortable "felt" or the shining and towering tile worn in civil life.
        Then over all was a huge overcoat, long and heavy, with a cape reaching nearly to the waist. On his back he strapped a knapsack containing a full stock of underwear, soap, towels, comb, brush, looking glass, toothbrush, paper and envelopes, pens, ink, pencils, blacking, photographs, smoking and chewing tobacco, pipes, twine string and cotton strips for wounds and other emergencies, needles and thread, buttons, knife, fork and spoon, and many other things as each man's idea of what he was to encounter varied. On the outside of the knapsack, solidly folded, were two great blankets and a rubber or oilcloth. This knapsack, &c., weighed from fifteen to twenty five pounds, and sometimes even more. All seemed to think it was impossible to have on too many or too heavy clothes, or to have too many conveniences, and each had an idea that to be a good soldier he must be provided against every possible emergency.
        In addition to the knapsack, each man had a haversack, more or less costly, some of cloth and some of fine morocco, and stored with provisions always, as though he expected any moment to receive orders to march across the great desert, and supply his own wants on the way. A canteen was thought indispensable, and at the outset it was thought very prudent to keep it full of water. Many, expecting terrific hand to hand encounters, carried revolvers, and even bowie knives.
        Merino shirts (and flannel) were thought to be the right thing, but experience demonstrated the contrary.
        In addition to each man's private luggage, each mess, generally composed of from five to ten men who were drawn together by similar tastes and associations, had its outfit, consisting of a large camp chest containing skillet, frying pan, coffee boiler, bucket for lard, coffee box, salt box, sugar box, meal box, flour box, knives, forks, spoons, plates, cups, &c., &c. These chests were so large that 8 or 10 of them filled up an army wagon, and were so heavy that two strong men had all they could do to get one of them into the wagon. In addition to the chest each mess owned an axe, water bucket, and bread tray. Then the tents of each company, and little sheet iron stoves, and stove pipe, and the trunks and valises of the company officers, made an immense pile of stuff, so that each company had a small wagon train of its own.
        All thought money was absolutely necessary, and for awhile rations were disdained, and the mess supplied with the best that could be bought with the mess fund. Gloves were thought to be good things to have in winter time, , and the favorite style was buck gauntlets with long cuffs.
        Quite a large number had a "boy" along to do the cooking and washing. Think of it! a Confederate soldier with a body servant all his own, to bring him a drink of water, black his boots, dust his clothes, cook his corn bread and bacon, and put wood on his fire. Never was there fonder admiration than these darkies displayed for their masters.
        Their chief delight and glory was to praise the courage and good looks of "Marse Tom," and prophesy great things about his future. Many a ringing laugh and shout of fun originated in the queer remarks, shining countenance and glistening teeth of this now forever departed character.
        It is amusing to think of the follies of the early part of the war, as illustrated by the outfits of the volunteers. They were so heavily clad, and so burdened with all manner of things, that a march was torture, and the wagon trains were so immense in proportion to the number of troops, that it would have been impossible to guard them in an enemy's country. Subordinate officers thought themselves entitled to transportation for trunks and even mattresses and folding bedsteads, and the privates were as ridiculous in their demands.
        This much by way of introduction. The change came rapidly and stayed not until the transformation was complete. Nor was the change attributable alone to the orders of the general officers. The men soon learned the inconvenience and danger of so much luggage, and as they became more experienced, vied with each other in reducing themselves to light marching trim.
        Experience soon demonstrated that boots were not agreeable on a long march. They were heavy and irksome, and when the heels were worn a little one sided, the wearer would find his ankle twisted nearly out of joint by every unevenness of the road. When thoroughly wet, it was a laborious undertaking to get them off, and worse to get them on in time to answer the morning roll call. And so good, strong, broad bottomed and big flat heeled brogues or brogans succeeded the boots, and were found much more comfortable and agreeable, easier put on and off, and altogether the most sensible.
        A short waisted, single breasted jacket usurped the place of the long tail coat, and became universal. The enemy noticed this peculiarity, and called the Confederates gray jackets, which name was immediately transferred to those lively creatures, which were the constant admirers and inseparable companions of the Boys in Gray and Blue.
        Caps were destined to hold out longer than some other uncomfortable things, but they finally yielded to the demands of comfort and common sense, and a good soft felt hat was worn instead. A man who has never been a soldier does not know, nor indeed can know, the amount of comfort there is in a good soft hat in camp, and how utterly useless is a "soldier hat" as they are generally made. Why the Prussians, with all their experience, wear their heavy, unyielding helmets, and the French their little caps, is a mystery to a Confederate who has enjoyed the comfort of an old slouch.
        Overcoats an inexperienced man would think an absolute necessity for men exposed to the rigors of a Northern Virginia winter, but they grew scarcer and scarcer. They were found a great inconvenience and burden. The men came to the conclusion that the trouble of carrying them hot days outweighed the comfort of having them when the cold day arrived. Besides they found that life in the open air hardened them to such an extent, that the changes in the temperature were not felt to any degree. Some clung to their overcoats to the last, but the majority got tired lugging them around, and either discarded them altogether, or trusted to capturing one about the time it would be needed. Nearly every overcoat in the army in the latter years was one of Uncle Sam's, captured from his boys.
        The knapsack vanished early in the struggle. It was found that it was inconvenient to "change" the underwear too often, and the disposition not to change grew, as the knapsack was found to gall the back and shoulders, and weary the man before half the march was accomplished. It was found that the better way was to dress out and out, and wear that outfit until the enemy's knapsacks or the folks at home supplied a change. Certainly it did not pay to carry around clean clothes while waiting for the time to use them.
        Very little washing was done, as a matter of course. Clothes once given up were parted with forever. There were good reasons for this. Cold water would not cleanse them or destroy the vermin, and hot water was not always to be had. . One blanket to each man was found to be as much as could be carried, and amply sufficient for the severest weather. This was carried generally by rolling it lengthwise, with the rubber cloth outside, tying the ends of the roll together, and throwing the loop thus made over the left shoulder with the ends fastened together hanging under the right arm.
        The haversack held its own to the last, and was found practical and useful. It very seldom, however, contained rations, but was used to carry all the articles generally carried in the knapsack; of course the stock was small. Somehow or other, many men managed to do without the haversack, and carried absolutely nothing but what they wore and had in their pockets. The infantry threw away their heavy cap boxes and cartridge boxes, and carried their caps and cartridges in their pockets. Canteens were very useful at times, but they were as a general thing discarded. They were not much used to carry water, but were found useful when the men were driven to the necessity of foraging, for conveying buttermilk, cider, sorghum; &c., to camp. A good strong tin cup was found better than a canteen, as it was easier to fill at a well or spring, and was serviceable as a boiler for making coffee when the column halted for the night.
        Revolvers were found to be about as useless as heavy lumber as a private soldier could carry, and early in the war were sent home to be used by the women and children in protecting themselves from insult and violence at the hands of the ruffians who prowled about the country shirking duty.
        Strong cotton was adopted in place of flannel and merino, for two reasons. First, because easier to wash, and second, because the vermin did not propagate so rapidly in cotton as in wool.
        Common white cotton shirts and drawers proved the best that could be used by the private soldier.
        Gloves to any but a mounted man were found useless, worse than useless. With the gloves on, it was impossible to handle an axe well, or buckle harness, or load a musket, or handle a rammer at the piece. Wearing them was found to be simply a habit, and so, on the principle that the less luggage the less labor, they were discarded.
        The camp chest soon vanished. The Brigadiers and Major Generals even found them too troublesome, and soon they were left entirely to the quartermasters and commissaries. One skillet and a couple of frying pans, a bag for flour or meal, another bag for salt, sugar and coffee, divided by a knot tied between, served the purpose as well. The skillet passed from mess to mess. Each mess generally owned a frying pan, but often one served a company.
        The oilcloth was found to be as good as the wooden tray for making up the dough. The water bucket held its own to the last!
        Tents were rarely seen. All the poetry about the "tented field" died. Two men slept together, each had a blanket and an oilcloth. One oilcloth went next to the ground. The two laid on this, covered themselves with two blankets, protected from the rain with the second oilcloth on top, and slept very comfortably through rain, snow or hail, as it might be.
        Very little money was seen in camp. The men did not expect, did not care for, or get often any pay, and they were not willing to deprive the old folks at home of their little supply; so they learned: to do without any money.
        When rations got short and were getting shorter, it became necessary to dismiss the darkey servants. Some, however, became company servants, instead of private institutions, and held out faithfully to the end, cooking the rations away in the rear, and at the risk of life carrying them to the line of battle to be devoured with voracity by their "young mahsters."
        Reduced to the minimum, the private soldier consisted of one man, one hat, one jacket, one shirt, one pair of pants, one pair of drawers, one pair of shoes, and one pair of socks. His baggage was one blanket, one rubber blanket, and one haversack. The haversack generally contained smoking tobacco and a pipe and generally a small piece of soap, with temporary additions of apples, persimmons, blackberries, and such other commodities as he could pick up on the march.
        The company property consisted of two or three skillets and frying pans, which were sometimes carried in the wagon, but oftener in the hands of the soldiers. The infantrymen generally preferred to stick the handle of the frying pan in the barrel of a musket, and so carry it.
        The wagon trains were devoted entirely to the transportation of ammunition and commissary and quartermaster's stores, which had not been issued. Rations which had become company property, and the baggage of the men, when they had any, was carried by the men themselves. If, as was sometimes the case, three days rations were issued at one time and the troops ordered to cook them and be prepared to march, they did cook them, and eat them if possible, so as to avoid the labor of carrying them. It was not such an undertaking either, to eat three days rations in one, as frequently none had been issued for more than a day, and when issued were cut down one half.
        The infantry found out that bayonets were not of much use, and did not hesitate to throw them, with the scabbard, away.
        The artillerymen, who started out with heavy sabers hanging to their belts, stuck them up in the mud as they marched, and left them for the ordinance officers to pick up and turn over to the cavalry.
        The cavalrymen found sabres very tiresome when swung to the belt, and adopted the plan of fastening them to the saddle on the left side, with the hilt in front and in reach of the hand. Finally sabres got very scarce even among the cavalrymen, who relied more and more on their short rifles.
        No soldiers ever marched with less to encumber them, and none marched faster or held out longer.
        The courage and devotion of the men rose equal to every hardship and privation, and the very intensity of their sufferings became a source of merriment. Instead of growling and deserting, they laughed at their own bare feet, ragged clothes and pinched faces, and weak, hungry, cold, wet, worried with vermin and itch, dirty, with no hope of reward or rest, but each fighting on his own personal account, needing not the voice of any to urge them on, marched cheerfully to meet the well fed and warmly clad hosts of the enemy.

Paper No. 2. -- Romantic Ideas Dissipated  

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        To offer a man promotion in the early part of the war was equivalent to an insult. The higher the social position, the greater the wealth, the more patriotic it would be to serve in the humble position of a private; and many men of education and ability in the various professions, refusing promotion, served under the command of men greatly their inferiors, mentally, morally, and as soldiers. It soon became apparent that the country wanted knowledge and ability, as well as muscle and endurance, and those who had capacity to serve in higher positions were promoted.
        Still it remained true, that inferior men commanded their superiors in every respect, save one -- Rank; and leaving out the one difference of rank, the officers and men were about on a par.
        It took years to teach the educated privates in the army that it was their duty to give unquestioning obedience to officers, because they were such, who were awhile ago their playmates and associates in business. It frequently happened that the private, feeling hurt by the stern authority of the officer, would ask him to one side, challenge him to personal combat, and thrash him well.
        After awhile these rambunctious privates learned all about extra duty, half rations and courts martial. It was only to conquer this independent resistance of discipline that punishment or force was necessary. The privates were as willing and anxious to fight and serve as the officers, and needed no pushing up to their duty.
        It is amusing to recall the disgust with which the men would hear of their assignment to the rear as reserves. They regarded the order as a deliberate insult, planned by some officer who had a grudge against their regiment or battery, who had adopted this plan to prevent their presence in battle, and thus humiliate them. How soon did they learn the sweetness of a day's repose in the rear!
        Another romantic notion, which for awhile possessed the boys, was that soldiers should not try to be comfortable, but glory in getting wet, being cold, hungry and tired. So they refused shelter in houses or barns, and, "like true soldiers," paddled about in the mud and rain, thinking thereby to serve their country better.
        The real troubles had not come, and they were in a hurry to suffer some. They had not long thus impatiently to wait, nor could they latterly complain of the want of a chance to "do or die."
        Volunteering for perilous or very onerous duty was popular at the outset, but as duties of this kind thickened it began to be thought time enough when the "orders" were peremptory or the orderly read the "detail."
        Another fancy idea was that the principal occupation of a soldier should be actual conflict with the enemy.
        They didn't dream of such a thing as camping for six months at a time without firing a gun, or marching and countermarching to mislead the enemy, or driving wagons and ambulances, building bridges, currying horses, and the thousand commonplace duties of the soldier.
        On the other hand, great importance was attached to some duties which soon became mere drudgery.
        Some times the whole detail for guard -- first, second and third relief -- would make it a point of honor to sit up the entire night, and watch and listen as though the enemy might pounce on them at any moment, and hurry them off to prison. Of course they soon learned how sweet it was, after two hours' walking of the beat, to turn in for four hours! which seemed to the sleepy man an eternity in anticipation, but only a brief time in retrospect, when the corporal gave him a "chunk," and remarked, "Time to go on guard."
        Everybody remembers how we used to talk about "one Confederate whipping a dozen Yankees." Literally true sometimes, but, generally speaking, two to one made hard work for the boys. They didn't know at the beginning anything about the advantage the enemy had in being able to present man for man in front and then send as many more to worry the flanks and rear. They learned something about this very soon, and had to contend against it on almost every field they won.
        Wounds were in great demand after the first wounded hero made his appearance. His wound was the envy of thousands of unfortunates who had not so much as a scratch to boast, and who felt "small" and of little consequence before the man with a bloody bandage. Many became despondent and groaned as they thought that perchance after all they were doomed to go home safe and sound, and hear, for all time, the praises of the fellow who had lost his arm by a cannon shot, or had his face ripped by a sabre, or his head smashed with a fragment of shell. After awhile the wound was regarded as a practical benefit. It secured a furlough of indefinite length, good eating, the attention and admiration of the fair, and, if permanently disabling, a discharge. Wisdom, born of experience, soon taught all hands better sense, and the fences and trees and ditches and rocks became valuable and eagerly sought after when "the music" of "minnie" and the roar of the "Napoleon" twelve pounders was heard.
        Death on the field, glorious first and last, was dared for duty's sake, but the good soldier learned to guard his life, and yield it only at the call of duty.
        Only the wisest men, those who had seen war before, imagined that the war would last more than a few months. The young volunteers thought one good battle would settle the whole matter; and, indeed, after "first Manassas" many thought they might as well go home! The whole North was frightened, and no more armies would dare assail the soil of Old Virginia. Colonels and brigadiers, with flesh wounds not worthy of notice, rushed to Richmond to report the victory and the end of the war! They had "seen sights" in the way of wounded and killed, plunder, &c., and according to their views no sane people would try again to conquer the heroes of that remarkable day.
        The newspaper men delighted in telling the soldiers that the Yankees were a diminutive race, of feeble constitution, timid as hares, with no enthusiasm, and that they would perish in short order under the glow of our Southern sun.
        Any one who has seen a regiment from Ohio or Maine knows how true these statements were. And besides the newspapers did not mention the English, Irish, German, French, Italian, Spanish, Swiss, Portuguese and Negroes, who were to swell the numbers of the enemy, and as our army grew less make his larger. True, there was not much fight in all this rubbish, but they answered well enough for drivers of wagons and ambulances, guarding stores and lines of communication, and doing all sorts of duty, while the good material was doing the fighting.
        Sherman's army, marching through Richmond after the surrender of Lee and Johnston, seemed to be composed of a race of giants, well-fed and well-clad.
        Many feared the war would end before they would have a fair chance to "make a record," and that when "the cruel war was over" they would have to sit by, dumb, and hear the more fortunate ones who had "smelt the battle" tell to admiring home circles the story of the bloody field. Most of these "got in" in time to satisfy their longings, and "got out" to learn that the man who did not go, but "kept out" and made money, was more admired and courted than the "poor fellow" with one leg or arm less than is "allowed."
        It is fortunate for those who "skulked" that the war ended as it did, for had the South been successful, the soldiers would have been favored with every mark of distinction and honor, and they "despised and rejected" as they deserved to be.
        While the war lasted it was the delight of some of the stoutly built fellows to go home for a few days, and kick and cuff and tongue lash the able bodied bombproofs. How coolly and submissively they took it all! How "big" they are now!
        The rubbish accumulated by the hope of recognition burdened the soldiers nearly to the end.
        England was to abolish the blockade and send us immense supplies of fine arms, large and small. France was thinking about landing an imperial force in Mexico, and marching thence to the relief of the South. But the "Confederate yell" never had an echo in the Marseillaise, or "God save the Queen," and Old Dixie was destined to sing her own song without the help even of "Maryland, my Maryland." The "war with England," which was to give Uncle Sam trouble and the South an ally, never came.
        Those immense balloons which somebody was always inventing, and which were to sail over the enemy's camps dropping whole cargoes of explosives, never "tugged" at their anchors or "sailed majestically away."
        As discipline improved and the men began to feel no longer simply volunteers, but enlisted volunteers, the romantic devotion which they had felt was succeeded by a feeling of constraint and necessity, and while the army was in reality very much improved and strengthened by the change, the soldiers imagined the contrary to be the case. And if discipline had been pushed to too great an extent, the army would have been deprived of the very essence of its life and power.
        When the officers began to assert superiority by withdrawing from the messes and organizing "officer's messes," the bond of brotherhood was weakened; and who will say that the dignity which was thus maintained was compensation for the loss of personal devotion as between comrades?
        At the outset the fact that men were in the same company put them somewhat on the same level and produced an almost perfect bond of sympathy, but as time wore on the various peculiarities and weaknesses of the men would show themselves, and each company, as a community, would separate into distinct circles as indifferent to each other, save in the common cause, as though they had never met as friends.
        The pride of the volunteers was sorely tried by the incoming of conscripts -- the most despised class in the army -- and their devotion to company and regiment was visibly lessened. They could not bear the thought of having these men for comrades, and felt the flag insulted when claimed by one of them as "his flag." It was a great source of annoyance to the true men, but was a necessity. Conscripts crowded together in companies, regiments and brigades would have been useless -- but scattered here and there among the good men, were utilized. And so, gradually, the pleasure that men had in being associated with others whom they respected as equals, was taken away and the social aspect of army life seriously marred.
        The next serious blow to romance was the abolishment of election and the appointment of officers. Instead of the privilege and pleasure of picking out some good hearted, brave comrade and making him captain, the lieutenant was promoted without the consent of the men, or, what was harder to bear, some officer hitherto unknown was sent to take command. This was no doubt better for the service, but it had a serious effect on the minds of volunteer patriot soldiers, and looked to them too much like arbitrary power exercised over men who were fighting that very principle. They frequently had to acknowledge, however, that the officers were all they could ask, and in many instances became devotedly attached to them.
        As the companies became decimated by disease, wounds, desertions and death, it became necessary to consolidate them, and so the social pleasures received another blow. Men from the same neighborhoods and villages, who had been schoolmates together, -- were no longer in companies, but mingled indiscriminately with all sorts of men from anywhere and everywhere.
        Those who have not served in the army as privates can form no idea of the extent to which such changes as those just mentioned effect the spirits and general worth of a soldier. Men who when surrounded by their old companions were brave and daring soldiers, full of spirit and hope, when thrust among strangers for whom they cared not and who cared not for them, became dull and listless, lost their courage and were slowly but surely "demoralized." They did, it is true, in many cases, stand up to the last, but they did it on dry principle -- having none of that enthusiasm and delight in duty which once characterized them.
        The Confederate soldier was peculiar in that he was ever ready to fight, but never ready to submit to the routine duty and discipline of the camp or the march. The soldiers were determined to be soldiers after their own notions, and do their duty for the love of it as they thought best. The officers saw the necessity for doing otherwise, and so the conflict was commenced and maintained to the end.
        It is doubtful whether the Southern soldier would have submitted to any hardships which were purely the result of discipline, and, on the other hand, no amount of hardship clearly of necessity could cool his ardor. And in spite of all this antagonism between the officers and men, the presence of conscripts, the consolidation of commands, and many other discouraging facts, the privates in the ranks so conducted themselves that the historians of the North were forced to call them the finest body of infantry that was ever assembled. But to know the men, we must see them divested of all their false notions of soldier life, and enduring the incomparable hardships which marked the latter half of the war.

Paper No. 3. -- On The March  

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        It is a common mistake of those who write on subjects familiar to themselves, to omit that particularity of description and detailed mention which, to one not so conversant with the matters discussed, is necessary to a clear appreciation of the meaning of the writer. This mistake is all the more fatal when the writer lives and writes in one age and his readers live in another.
        And so a soldier, writing for the information of the citizen, should forget his familiarity with the every day scenes of soldier life and strive to record even those things which seem to him too common to mention. Who does not know all about the marching of soldiers? Those who have never marched with them and some who have. The varied experience of thousands would not tell the whole story of the march. Every man must be heard before the story is told, and even then the part of those who fell by the way is wanting. Orders to move! Where? when? what for? -- are the eager questions of the men as they begin their preparations to march. Generally nobody can answer, and the journey is commenced in utter ignorance of where it is to end. But shrewd guesses are made, and scraps of information will be picked up on the way. The main thought must be to "get ready to move." The orderly sergeant is shouting "fall in" and there is no time to lose. The probability is that before you get your blanket rolled up, find your frying pan, haversack, axe, &c., and "fall in" the roll call will be over, and some "extra duty" provided. No wonder there is bustle in the camp. Rapid decisions are to be made between the various conveniences which have accumulated, for some must be left. One fellow picks up the skillet, holds it awhile, mentally determining how much it weighs, and what will be the weight of it after carrying it five miles, and reluctantly, with a half ashamed, sly look, drops it and takes his place in ranks. Another having added to his store of blankets too freely, now has to decide which of the two or three he will leave. The old water bucket looks large and heavy, but one stout hearted, strong armed man has taken it affectionately to his care.
        This is the time to say farewell to the bread tray, farewell to the little piles of clean straw laid between two logs, where it was so easy to sleep; farewell to those piles of wood, cut with so much labor; farewell to the girls in the neighborhood; farewell to the spring, farewell to "our tree" and "our fire" good bye to the fellows who are not going, and a general good bye to the very hills and valleys.
        Soldiers commonly threw away the most valuable articles they possessed. Blankets, overcoats, shoes, bread and meat, all gave way to the necessities of the march; and what one man threw away would frequently be the very article another wanted and would immediately pick up. So there was not much lost after all.
        The first hour or so of the march was generally quite orderly - the men preserving their places in ranks and marching with a good show of order; but soon some lively fellow whistles an air, somebody else starts a song, the whole column breaks out with roars of laughter, "route step" takes the place of order, and the jolly singing, laughing, talking and joking that follows none could describe.
        Now let any young officer dare to pass along who sports a new hat, coat, saddle, or anything new, or odd, or fine, and how nicely he is attended to.
        The expressions of good natured fun, or contempt, which one regiment of infantry was capable of uttering in a day for the benefit of passers by, would fill a volume. As one thing or another in the dress of the "subject" of their remarks attracted attention, they would shout, "Come out of that hat! - you can't hide in thar" "Come out of that coat, come out - there's a man it it" "Come out of them boots!!" The infantry seemed to know exactly what to say to torment cavalry and artillery.
        If any one on the roadside was simple enough to recognize and address by name a man in the ranks, the whole column would kindly respond, and add all sorts of pleasant remarks, such as, "Halloa, John, here's your brother!" "Bill!!, oh Bill!!!, here's your ma!" "Glad to see you! -- How's your grandma?" "How-dye do!" "Come out of that 'biled(boiled-clean) shirt'!"
        Troops on the march were generally so cheerful and gay that an outsider looking on them as they marched would hardly imagine how they suffered. In summer time, the dust, combined with the heat, caused great suffering. The nostrils of the men, filled with dust, became dry and feverish, and even the throat did not escape. The "grit" was felt between the teeth, and the eyes were rendered almost useless. There was dust in eyes, mouth, ears and hair. The shoes were full of sand, and penetrating the clothes, and getting in at the neck, wrists and ankles, the dust, mixed with perspiration, produced an irritant almost as active as cantharides. The heat was at times terrific, but the men became greatly accustomed to it, and endured it with wonderful ease. Their heavy woolen clothes were a great annoyance. Tough linen or cotton clothes would have been a great relief; indeed, there are many objections to woolen clothing for soldiers even in winter. The sun produced great changes in the appearance of the men. Their skins were tanned to a dark brown or red, their hands black almost, and, added to this the long, uncut beard and hair, they too burned to a strange color, made them barely recognizable to the homefolks.
        If the dust and the heat were not on hand to annoy, their very able substitutes were. Mud, cold, rain, snow, hail and wind took their places. Rain was the greatest discomfort a soldier could have. It was more uncomfortable than the severest cold with clear weather. Wet clothes, shoes and blankets; wet meat and bread; wet feet and wet ground; wet wood to burn, or, rather, not to burn; wet arms and ammunition; wet ground to sleep on, mud to wade through, swollen creeks to ford, muddy springs, and a thousand other discomforts attended the rain. There was no comfort on a rainy day or night except in "bed" - that is, under your blanket and oilcloth. Cold winds, blowing the rain in the faces of the men, increased the discomfort. Mud was often so deep as to submerge the horses and mules, and at times it was necessary for one man or more to extricate another from the mud holes in the road.
        Marching at night, when very dark, was attended with additional discomforts and dangers, such as falling off bridges, stumbling into ditches, tearing the face and injuring the eyes against the bushes and projecting limbs of trees, and getting separated from your own company and hopelessly lost in the multitude.
        Of course, a man lost had no sympathy. If he dared to ask a question, every man in hearing would answer, each differently, and then the whole multitude would roar with laughter at the lost man, and ask him "if his mother knew he was out?"
        Very few men had comfortable or fitting shoes, and less had socks, and, as a consequence, the suffering from bruised and inflamed feet was terrible. It was a common practice, on long marches, for the men to take off their shoes and carry them in their hands or swung over their shoulder.
        When large bodies of troops were moving on the same road the alternate "halt" and "forward" was very harassing. Every obstacle produced a halt and caused the men at once to sit and lie down on the road side where shade or grass tempted them, and about the time they got fixed they would hear the word "forward!" and then have to move at increased speed to close up the gap in the column.
        Sitting down for a few minutes on a long march is pleasant, but it does not always pay. When the march is resumed the limbs are stiff and sore, and the man rather worsted by the rest.
        About noon on a hot day, some fellow with the water instinct would determine in his own mind that a well was not far ahead, and start off in a trot to reach it before the column. Of course another followed and another, till a stream of men were hurrying to the well, which was soon completely surrounded by a thirsty mob, yelling and pushing and pulling to get to the bucket as the windlass brought it again and again to the surface. Impatience and haste soon overturn the windlass, spatter the water all around the well till the whole crowd is wading in mud, and now the rope is broken and the bucket falls to the bottom. But there is a substitute for rope and bucket. The men hasten away and get long slim poles, and on them tie, by their straps, a number of canteens, which they lower into the well and fill, and, unless, as was frequently the case, the whole lot slipped off and fell to the bottom, drew them to the top and distributed them to their owners, who at once threw their heads back. inserted the nozzles in their mouths and drank the last drop, hastening at once to rejoin the marching column, leaving behind them a dismantled and dry well. It was in vain the officers tried to stop the stream making for the water, and equally vain to attempt to move the crowd while a drop remained accessible. Many who were thoughtful carried full canteens to comrades in the column who had not been able to get to the well, and no one who has not had experience of it knows the thrill of gratification and delight which those fellows knew when the cool stream gurgled from the battered canteen down their parched throats.
        In very hot weather, when the necessities of the service allowed it there was a halt about noon, of an hour or so, to rest the men and give them a chance to cool off and get the sand and gravel out of their shoes. This time was spent by some in absolute repose but the lively boys told many a yarn, cracked many a joke, and sung many a song between "halt" and "column forward!". Some took the opportunity, if water was near, to bathe their feet, hands and face, and nothing could be more enjoyable.
        The passage of a cider cart (a barrel on wheels) was a rare and exciting occurrence. The rapidity with which a barrel of sweet cider was consumed would astonish any one who saw it for the first time, and generally the owner had cause to wonder at the small return in cash. Sometimes a desperately enterprising darkey would approach the column with a cart load of pies "so called." It would be impossible to describe accurately the taste or appearance of these pies. They were generally similar in appearance, size and thickness to a pale specimen of "Old Virginia" buckwheat cakes, and had a taste which resembled a combination of rancid lard and crab apples. It was generally supposed that they contained dried apples, and the sellers were careful to state that they had "sugar in 'em" and "was mighty nice." It was rarely the case that any "trace" of sugar was found, but they filled up a hungry man wonderfully. Men of sense, and there were many such in the ranks, were necessarily desirous of knowing where or how far they were to march, and suffered greatly from a feeling of helpless ignorance of where they were and whither bound -- whether to battle or camp. Frequently, when anticipating the quiet and rest of an ideal camp, they were thrown, weary and exhausted, into the face of a waiting enemy, and at times, after anticipating a sharp fight, having formed line of battle and braced themselves for the coming danger, suffered all the apprehension and gotten themselves in good fighting trim, they would be marched off in the dryest and prosiest sort of style and ordered into camp, where, in all probability, they had to "wait for the wagon," and for the bread and meat therein, until the proverb, "Patient waiting is no loss," lost all its force and beauty.
        Occasionally, when the column extended for a mile or more, and the road was one dense moving mass of men, a cheer would be heard away ahead and increasing in volume as it approached until there was one universal shout. Then some general favorite officer would dash by, followed by his staff, and explain the cause.
        At other times, the same cheering and enthusiasm would result from the passage down the column of some obscure and despised officer, who knew it was all a joke, and looked mean and sheepish accordingly.
        The men would generally help each other in real distress, but their delight was to torment any one who was unfortunate in a ridiculous way. If, for instance, a piece of artillery was fast in the mud, the infantry and cavalry passing around the obstruction would rack their brains for words and phrases applicable to the situation and most calculated to worry the cannoneers who, waist deep in the mud, are tugging at the wheels.
        Brass bands, at first quite numerous and good, became very rare and the music very poor in the latter years of the war. It was a fine thing to see the fellows trying to keep the music going as they waded through the mud. But poor as the music was, it helped the footsore and weary to make another mile, and encouraged a cheer and a brisker step from the lagging and tired column.
        As the men became tired, there was less and less talking, until the whole mass became quiet and serious. Each man was occupied with his own thoughts. For miles nothing could be heard but the steady tramp of the men, the rattling and jingling of canteens and accoutrements, and the occasional "close up, men, -- close up!" of the officers. As evening came on, questioning of the officers was in order, and for an hour it would be, "Captain, when are we going into camp?" "I say, lieutenant! are we going to or to blank?" "Seen anything of our wagon?" "How long are we to stay here?" - "Where's the spring?" Sometimes these questions were meant simply to tease, but generally they betrayed anxiety of some sort and a close observer would easily detect the seriousness of the man who asked after "our wagon," because he spoke feelingly as one who wanted his supper and was in doubt as to whether or not he would get it.
        Many a poor fellow dropped in the road and breathed his last in the corner of a fence, with no one to hear his last fond mention of his loved ones. And many whose ambition it was to share every danger and discomfort with their comrades, overcome by the heat or worn out with disease, were compelled to leave the ranks, and while friend and brother marched to battle, drag their weak and staggering frames to the rear, perhaps to die, pitiably alone, in some hospital, and be buried as one more "Unknown."
        An accomplished straggler could assume more misery, look more horribly emaciated, tell more dismal stories of distress, eat more and march further (to the rear), than any ten ordinary men. Most stragglers were real sufferers, but many of them were ingenious liars, energetic foragers, plunder hunters and gormandizers. Thousands who kept their place in ranks to the very end were equally as tired, as sick, as hungry and as hopeless as these scamps, but too proud to tell it or use it as a means of escape from hardship.

Paper No. 4. -- Cooking and Eating  

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        Rations in the Army of Northern Virginia were alternately superabundant and altogether wanting. The quality, quantity and frequency of them depended upon the amount of stores in the hands of the commissaries, the relative positions of the troops and the wagon trains, and the many accidents and mishaps of the campaign. During the latter years and months of the war, so uncertain was the issue as to time, quantity and composition, the men became in large measure independent of this seeming absolute necessity, and by some mysterious means, known only to purely patriotic soldiers, learned to fight without pay and find a subsistence in the field, the stream or the forest, and, on the bleak mountain side, a shelter.
        Sometimes there was an abundant issue of bread and no meat; then meat in any quantity and no flour or meal. Sugar in abundance and no coffee to be had for "love or money," and then coffee plenteously without a grain of sugar. For months nothing but flour for bread and then nothing but meal, till all hands longed for a biscuit, or fresh meat until it was nauseating; and then salt pork without intermission.
        To be one day without anything to eat was common. Two days fasting, marching and fighting was not uncommon, and there were times when no rations were issued for three or four days. On one march, from Petersburg to Appomattox, no rations were issued to Cutshaw's battalion of artillery for one entire week, and the men subsisted on the corn intended for the battery horses, raw bacon captured from the enemy, and the water of springs, creeks and rivers. No doubt there were other commands suffering the same privations.
        A soldier in the Army of Northern Virginia was fortunate when he had his flour, meat, sugar and coffee all at the same time and in proper quantity. Having these, the most skillful axe man of the mess hewed down a fine hickory or oak, and cut it into. "lengths." All hands helped to "tote it" to the fire. When the wood was convenient, the fire was large and the red coals abundant.
        The man most gifted in the use of the skillet was the one most highly appreciated about the fire, and as tyrannical as a Turk; but when he raised the lid of the oven and exposed the brown, crusted tops of the biscuit, animosity subsided. The frying pan, full of "grease," then became the centre of attraction. As the hollow cheeked boy "sopped" his biscuit, his poor, pinched countenance wrinkled into a smile and his sunken eyes glistened with delight.
        The strong men squatted around, chuckling over their good luck and "cooing" -- like a child with a big piece of cake. Ah! this was a sight which but few of those who live and die are ever permitted to see.
        And the coffee, too -- how delicious the aroma of it, and how readily each man disposes of a quart.
        And now the last biscuit is gone, the last drop of coffee, and the frying pan is "wiped" clean. The tobacco bag is pulled wide open, pipes are scraped, knocked out and filled, the red coal is applied, and the blue smoke rises in wreaths and curls from the mouths of the no longer hungry, but happy and contented soldiers.
        Songs rise on the still night air, the merry laugh resounds, the woods are bright with the rising flame of the fire, story after story is told, song after song is sung, and at midnight the soldiers steal away one by one to their blankets on the ground and sleep till reveille. Such was a meal when the mess was fortunate. How different when the wagons had not been heard from for forty eight hours, and the remnants of stock on hand had to do. How, the question is, how to do the largest amount of good to the largest number with the smallest amount of material? The most experienced men discuss the situation and decide that "somebody" must go foraging. Though the stock on hand is small, no one seems anxious to leave the small certainty and go in search of the large uncertainty of supper from some farmer's well filled table. But at last several comrades start out, and as they disappear the preparations for immediate consumption commence. The meat is too little to cook alone, and the flour will scarcely make six biscuits. The result is that "slosh" or "coosh" must do. So the bacon is fried out till the pan is half full of boiling grease. The flour is mixed with water until it flows like milk, poured into the grease and rapidly stirred till the whole is a dirty brown mixture. It is now ready to be served. Perhaps some dainty fellow prefers the more imposing "slap jack." If so, the flour is mixed with less water, the grease reduced, and the paste poured in till it covers the bottom of the pan, and, when brown on the underside, is by a nimble twist of the pan turned and browned again. If there is any sugar in camp it makes a delicious addition.
        About the time the last scrap of "slap jack" and the last spoonful of "slosh" are disposed of, the unhappy foragers return. They take in the situation at a glance -- realize with painful distinctness that they have sacrificed the homely slosh for the vain expectancy of apple butter, shortcake and milk, and, with woeful countenance and mournful voice, narrate their adventure and disappointment thus: "Well, boys, we have done the best we could. We have walked about nine miles over the mountain, and haven't found a mouthful to eat. Sorry, but it's a fact." "Billy Brown fell down the mountain and mashed his nose; Patso nearly scratched his eyes out with the briars, and we are all hungry as dogs -- give us our biscuit." Of course there are none, and, as it is not contrary to army etiquette to do so, the whole mess professes to be very sorry, and is greatly delighted.
        Sometimes, however, the foragers returned well laden with good things, and, as good comrades should, shared the fruits of their toilsome hunt with the whole mess. Foragers thought it not indelicate to linger about the house of the unsuspecting farmer till the lamp revealed the family at supper, and then modestly approach and knock at the door. An invitation to enter was almost certain to follow and was certainly accepted. The good hearted man knew that his guests were "posted" about the meal which was in progress in the next room, the invitation to supper was given, and, shall I say it, accepted with an unbecoming lack of reluctance.
        The following illustrates the ingenuity of the average forager.
        There was great scarcity of meat, and no prospect of a supply from the wagons. Two experienced foragers were sent out, and as a farmer about ten miles from the camp was killing hogs, guided by soldier instinct, they went directly to his house, and found the meat nicely cut up, the various pieces of each hog making a separate pile on the floor of an outhouse. The proposition to buy met with a surprisingly ready response on the part of the farmer. He offered one entire pile of meat, being one whole hog, for such a small sum that the foragers instantly closed the bargain, and as promptly opened their eyes to the danger which menaced them. They give the old gentleman a ten dollar bill and request the change. He is pleased with their honest method and hastens away to his house for the desired change.
        The two honest foragers hastily examine the particular pile of pork which the simple hearted farmer has designated theirs, find it very rank and totally unfit for food, transfer half of it to another pile, from which they take half and add to theirs, and await the return of the farmer. He returns, gives them their change and assures them they have a bargain. They agree that they have, toss the good and bad together into a bag, say goodbye, and depart as rapidly as artillerymen on foot can. The result of this trip was a "pot pie" of large dimensions, and some six or eight men gorged with fat pork, declaring that they had never cared and would never again wish to eat pork -- especially pork pies.
        A large proportion of the eating of the army was done in the houses and at the tables of the people -- not by the use of force, but by the wish and invitation of the people. It was at times necessary that whole towns should help to sustain the army of defence, and when this was the case, it was done voluntarily and cheerfully. The soldiers -- all who conducted themselves properly -- were received as honored guests and given the best in the house. There was a wonderful absence of stealing or plundering, and even when the people suffered from depredation they attributed the cause to terrible necessity rather than to wanton disregard of the rights of property. And when armed guards were placed over the smokehouses and barns, it was not so much because the Commanding General doubted the honesty as that he knew the necessities of his troops. But even pinching hunger was not held to be an excuse for marauding expeditions.
        The inability of the government to furnish supplies forced the men to depend largely upon their own energy and ingenuity to obtain them. The officers knowing this, relaxed discipline to an extent which would seem, to an European officer for instance, ruinous. It was no uncommon sight to see a brigade or division, which was but a moment before marching in solid column along the road, scattered over an immense field searching for the luscious blackberries. And it was wonderful to see how promptly and cheerfully all returned to the ranks when the field was gleaned. In the fall of the year a persimmon tree on the roadside would halt a column and detain it till the last persimmon disappeared.
        The sutler's wagon, loaded with luxuries, which was so common in the Federal army, was unknown in the Army of Northern Virginia; and for two reasons, the men had no money to buy sutlers' stores and the country no men to spare for sutlers. The nearest approach to the sutler's wagon was the "cider cart" of some old darkey or a basket of pies and cakes displayed on the roadside for sale.
        The Confederate soldier relied greatly upon the abundant supplies of eatables which the enemy was kind enough to bring him, and he cheerfully risked his life for the accomplishment of the two fold purpose of whipping the enemy and getting what he called "a square meal." After a battle there was general feasting on the Confederate side. Good things, scarcely ever seen at other times, filled the haversacks and the stomachs of "Boys in Gray." Imagine the feelings of men half famished when they rush into a camp -- at one side, while the enemy flees from the other, and find the coffee on the fire, sugar at hand ready to be dropped into the coffee, bread in the oven, crackers by the box, fine beef ready cooked, desiccated vegetables by the bushel, canned peaches, lobsters, tomatoes, milk, barrels of ground and toasted coffee, soda, salt, and in short everything a hungry soldier craves. Then add the liquors, wines, cigars and tobacco found in the tents of the officers and the wagons of the sutlers, and remembering the condition of the victorious party, hungry, thirsty and weary, say if it did not require wonderful devotion to duty and great self denial to push on, trampling under foot the plunder of the camp, and pursue the enemy till the sun went down.
        When it was allowable to halt, what a glorious time it was! Men who a moment before would have been delighted with a pone of corn bread and a piece of fat meat now discuss the comparative merits of peaches and milk and fresh tomatoes, lobster and roast beef, and forgetting the briar root pipe, faithful companion of the vicissitudes of the soldier's life, snuff the aroma of imported Havanas. In sharp contrast with the mess cooking at the big fire was the serious and diligent work of the man separated from his comrades, out of reach of the woods, but bent on cooking and eating. He has found a coal of fire, and having placed over it in an ingenious manner the few leaves and twigs near his post, he fans the little pile with his hat. It soon blazes. Fearing the utter consumption of his fuel, he hastens to balance on the little fire his tin cup of water. When it boils, from some secure place in his clothes, he takes a little coffee and drops it in the cup, and almost instantly the cup is removed and set aside; then the slice of fat meat is laid on the coals and when brown and crisp, completes the meal -- for the "crackers" or biscuit are ready. No one but a soldier would have undertaken to cook with such a fire, as frequently it was no bigger than a quart cup.
        Crackers, or "hard tack" as they were called, are notoriously poor eating, but in the hands of the Confederate soldier were made to do good duty. When on the march and pressed for time, a piece of solid fat pork and a dry cracker was passable or luscious, as the time was long or short since the last meal. When there was leisure to do it, hard tack was soaked well and then fried in bacon grease. Prepared thus it was a dish which no Confederate had the weakness or the strength to refuse.
        Sorghum, in the absence of the better molasses of peace times, was greatly prized and eagerly sought after. A "Union" man living near the Confederate lines was one day busy boiling his crop. Naturally enough, some of "our boys" smelt out the place and determined to have some of the sweet fluid. They had found a yearling dead in the field hard by, and in thinking over the matter determined to sell the Union man if possible. So they cut from the dead animal a choice piece of beef, carried it to the old fellow and offered to trade. He accepted the offer and the whole party walked off with canteens full.
        Artillerymen, having tender consciences and no muskets, seldom, if ever, shot stray pigs; but they did sometimes, as an act of friendship, wholly disinterested, point out to the infantry a pig which seemed to need shooting, and by way of dividing the danger and responsibility of the act, accept privately a choice part of the deceased.
        On one occasion, when a civilian was dining with the mess, there was a fine pig for dinner. This circumstance caused the civilian to remark on the good fare. The "forager" remarked that pig was an uncommon dish, this one having been kicked by one of the battery horses while stealing corn and instantly killed. The civilian seemed to doubt the statement after his teeth had come down hard on a pistol bullet, and continued to doubt though assured that it was the head of a horseshoe nail.
        The most melancholy eating a soldier was ever forced to do, was when pinched with hunger, cold, wet and dejected, he wandered over the deserted field of battle and satisfied his cravings with the contents of the haversacks of the dead. If there is anything which will overcome the natural abhorrence which a man feels for the enemy, the loathing of the bloated dead and the awe engendered by the presence of death, solitude and silence, it is hunger. Impelled by its clamoring men of high principle and tenderest humanity, become for the time void of sensibility and condescend to acts which, though justified by their extremity, seem afterwards, even to the doers, too shameless to mention.
        When rations became so very small that it was absolutely necessary to supplement them, and the camp was permanently established, those men who had the physical ability worked for the neighborhood farmers at cutting cordwood, harvesting the crops, killing hogs or any other farmwork. A stout man would cut a cord of wood a day and receive fifty cents in money or its equivalent in something eatable. Hogs were slaughtered for the "fifth quarter." When the corn became large enough to eat, the roasting ears, thrown in the ashes with the shucks on and nicely roasted, made a grateful meal. Turnip and onion patches also furnished delightful and much needed food, good, raw or cooked.
        Occasionally, when a mess was hard pushed for eatables, it became necessary to resort to some ingenious method of disgusting a part of the mess, that the others might eat their fill. The "pepper treatment" was a common method practiced with the soup, which once failed. A shrewd fellow who loved things "hot" decided to have plenty of soup, and to accomplish his purpose, as he passed and repassed the boiling pot, dropped in a pod of red pepper. But, alas! for him, there was another man like minded who adopted the same plan, and the result was the "mess" waited in vain for that pot of soup to cool.
        The individual coffee boiler of one man in the Army of Northern Virginia was always kept at the boiling point. The owner of it was an enigma to his comrades. They could not understand, his strange fondness for "red hot" coffee. Since the war he has explained that he found the heat of the coffee prevented its use by others and adopted the plan of placing his cup on the fire after every sip. This same character never troubled himself to carry a canteen, though a great water drinker. When he found a good canteen he would kindly give it to a comrade, reserving the privilege of an occasional drink when in need. He soon had an interest in thirty or forty canteens and their contents, and a drink of water if it was to be found in any of them. He pursued the same plan with blankets and always had plenty in that line. His entire outfit was the clothes on his back and a haversack accurately shaped to hold one half pone of corn bread.
        Roasting ear time was a trying time for the hungry privates. Having been fed during the whole of the winter on salt meat and coarse bread, his system craved the fresh, luscious juice of the corn, and at times his honesty gave way under the pressure. How could he resist? -- he didn't -- he took some roasting ears! Sometimes the farmer grumbled, sometimes he quarreled and sometimes he complained to the officers of the depredations of "the men." The officers apologized, eat what corn they had on hand and sent their "boy" for some more.
        One old farmer conceived the happy plan of inviting some privates to his house, stating his grievances and securing their cooperation in the effort to protect his corn. He told them that of course they were not the gentlemen who took his corn! Oh no! of course they would not do such a thing; but wouldn't they please speak to the others and ask them please not to take his corn? Of course! certainly! oh yes! they would certainly remonstrate with their comrades. How they burned though as they thought of the past and contemplated the near future. As they returned to camp through the field they filled their haversacks with the silky ears, and were met on the other side of the field by the kind farmer and a file of men who were only too eager to secure the plucked corn "in the line of duty."
        A faithful officer, worn out with the long, weary march, sick, hungry and dejected, leaned his back against a tree and groaned to think of his inability to join in the chase of an old hare, which, he knew from the wild yells in the wood, his men were pursuing. But the uproar approached him -- nearer, nearer and nearer until he saw the hare bounding towards him with a regiment at her heels. She spied an opening made by the folds of the officer's cloak and jumped in and he embraced his first meal for forty eight hours. An artillery man was camped for a day where no water was to be had. During the night, awakened by thirst, he arose and stumbled about in search of water. To his surprise he found a large bucketful. He drank deep and with delight. In the morning he found that the water he drank had washed a bullock's head and was crimson with his blood.
        Some stragglers came up one night and found the camp silent. All hands asleep. Being hungry they sought and to their great delight found a large pot of soup. It had a peculiar taste, but they "worried" it down, and in the morning bragged of their good fortune. The soup had defied the stomachs of the whole battery, being strongly impregnated with the peculiar flavor of defunct cockroaches.
        Shortly before the evacuation of Petersburg, a country boy went hunting. He killed and brought to camp a muskrat. It was skinned, cleaned, buried a day or two, disinterred and eaten with great relish. It was splendid.
        During the seven days' battles around Richmond, a studious private observed the rats as they entered and emerged from a corncrib. He killed one, cooked it privately and invited a friend to join him in eating a fine squirrel. The comrade consented, ate heartily, and when told what he had eaten, forthwith disgorged. But he confesses that up to the time when he was enlightened he had greatly enjoyed the meal.
        It was at this time, when rats were a delicacy, that the troops around Richmond agreed to divide their rations with the poor of the city, and they were actually hauled in and distributed. Comment here would be like complimenting the sun on its brilliancy or warmth.
        Orators dwell on the genius and skill of the general officers; historians tell of the movements of divisions and army corps, and the student of the art of war studies the geography and topography of the country and the returns of the various corps: they all seek to find and to tell the secret of success or failure.
        The Confederate soldier knows the elements of his success -- courage, endurance and devotion. He knows also by whom he was defeated -- sickness, starvation, death. He fought not men only, but food, raiment, pay, glory, fame and fanaticism. He endured privation, toil and contempt. He won, and despite the cold indifference of all and the hearty hatred of some, he will have for all time, in all places where generosity is, a fame untarnished.

Paper No. 5. -- Improvised Infantry--To Appomattox Courthouse  

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        Sunday, April 2d, 1865, found Cutshaw's battalion of artillery occupying the earthworks at Fort Clifton, on the Appomattox, about two miles below Petersburg, Virginia. The command was composed of the Second company Richmond Howitzers, Captain Lorraine F. Jones, Garber's battery, Fry's battery and remnants of five other batteries (saved from the battle of Spotsylvania Courthouse, May 12, 1864), and had present for duty nearly five hundred men, with a total muster roll, including the men in prison, of one thousand and eighty.
        The place -- the old "Clifton House" -- was well fortified, and had the additional protection of the river along the entire front of perhaps a mile. The works extended from the Appomattox on the right to Swift creek on the left. There we re some guns of heavy calibre, mounted and ready for action, and in addition to these some field pieces disposed along the line at suitable points. the enemy had formidable works opposite, but had not used their guns to disturb the quiet routine of the camp. The river bank was picketed by details from the artillery armed as infantry, but without the usual equipments. The guard duty was so heavy that half the men were always on guard.
        The huts, built by the troops who had formerly occupied the place, were located, with a view to protection from the enemy's fire under the hills on the sides of the ravines or gullies which divided them, and were underground to the eaves of the roof Consequently, the soil being sandy, there was a constant filtering of sand through the cracks, and in spite of the greatest care the grit found its way into the flour and meal, stuck to the greasy frying pan and even filled the hair of the men as they slept in their bunks.
        At this time rations were reduced to the minimum of quantity and quality, being generally worm eaten peas, sour or rancid mess -- pork and unbolted corn meal, relieved occasionally with a small supply of luscious canned beef imported from England, good flour (half rations), a little coffee and sugar, and, once, apple brandy for all hands. Ragged, barefooted and even bareheaded men were so common that they did not excite notice or comment, and did not expect or seem to feel the want of sympathy. And yet there was scarcely a complaint or murmur of dissatisfaction and not the slightest indication of fear or doubt. The spirit of the men was as good as ever and the possibility of immediate disaster -- had not cast its shadow there.
        Several incidents occurred during the stay of the battalion at Fort Clifton which will serve to illustrate everyday life on the lines. It occurred to a man picketing the river bank that it would be amusing to take careful aim at the man on the other side doing the same duty for the enemy, fire, laugh to see the fellow jump and dodge, and then try again. He fired, laughed, dropped his musket to reload, and while smiling with satisfaction heard the "thud" of a bullet and felt an agonizing pain in his arm. His musket fell to the ground and he walked back to camp with his arm swinging heavily at his side. The surgeon soon relieved him of it altogether. The poor fellow learned a lesson. The "Yank" had beat him at his own game.
        The guard house was a two story framed building about twelve feet square, having two rooms, one above the other. The detail for guard duty was required to stay in the guard house; those who wished to sleep going up stairs, while others just relieved or about to go on duty clustered around the fire in the lower room. One night, when the upper floor was covered with sleeping men, an improvised infantryman who had been relieved from duty walked in, and preparatory to taking his stand at the fire, threw his musket carelessly in the corner. A loud report and angry exclamations immediately followed. The sergeant of the guard, noticing the direction of the ball, hurried up stairs, and to the disgust of the sleepy fellows, ordered all hands to "turn out." Grumbling, growling, stretching and rubbing their eyes, the men got up. Some one inquired, "where's Pryor?" His chum, who had been sleeping by his side, replied "there he is asleep shake him!" His blanket was drawn aside, and with a shake he was commanded to "get up!" But there was no motion, no reply. The ball had passed through his heart, and he had passed without a groan or a sigh from deep sleep to death. The man who was killed and the man who was sleeping by his side, under the same blanket, were members of the Second company Richmond Howitzers. The careless man who made the trouble was also an artilleryman, from one of the other batteries.
        Shortly after this accident, after a quiet day, the men retired to their huts and the whole can p was still as a country church yard. The pickets on the river's edge could hear those on the opposite side asking the corporal of the guard the hour and complaining that they had not been promptly relieved. Suddenly a terrific bombardment commenced and the earth fairly trembled. The men, suddenly awakened, heard the roar of the guns, the rush of the shots and the explosion of the shells. To a man only half awake the shells seemed to pass very near and in every direction In a moment all were rushing out of their houses, and soon the hillsides and bluffs were covered with an excited crowd, gazing awestruck on the sight. The firing was away to the right, and there was not the slightest danger. Having realized this fact, the interest was intense. The shells from the opposite lines met and passed in mid air -- their burning fuses forming an arch of fire which paled occasionally as a shell burst, illuminating the heavens with its blaze. The uproar, even at such a distance, was terrible. The officers, fearing that fire would be opened along the whole line, ordered the cannoneers to their posts; men were sent down into the magazine with lanterns to arrange the ammunition for the heavy guns; the lids of the limbers of the field pieces were thrown up; the cannoneers were counted off at their posts; the brush which had been piled before the embrasures was torn away, and with implements in hand all stood at attention till the last shot was fired, -- the heavens were dark again and silence reigned. Soon all hands were as sound asleep as though nothing had occurred.
        The next morning an artilleryman came walking leisurely towards the camp, and being recognized as belonging to a battery which was in position on that part of the line where the firing of the last night occurred, was plied with questions as to the loss on our side, who was hurt, &c., &c. Smiling at the anxious faces and eager questions, he replied: "When? Last night? Nobody!" It was astounding, but nevertheless true.
        On another occasion some scattering shots were heard up the river, and after awhile a body came floating down the stream. It was hauled on shore and buried in the sand a little above high water mark. It was a poor Confederate who had attempted to desert to the enemy but was shot while swimming for the opposite bank of the river. His grave was the centre of the beat of one of the picket posts on the river bank, and there were few men so indifferent to the presence of the dead as not to prefer some other post.
        And so while there had been no fighting there were always incidents to remind the soldier that danger lurked around, and that he could not long avoid his share. The camp was not as joyous as it had been, and all felt that the time was near which would try the courage of the stoutest. The struggles of the troops on the right with overwhelming numbers and reports of adversities, caused a general expectation that the troops lying so idly at the Clifton house would be ordered to the point of danger. They had not long to wait.
        Sunday came and went as many a Sunday had. There was nothing unusual apparent, unless, perhaps, the dull and list less attitudes of the men and the monotonous call of those on guard were more oppressive than usual. The sun went down, the hills and valleys and the river were veiled in darkness. Here and there twinkling lights were visible. On the other side of the river could be heard a low rumbling which experienced men said was the movement of artillery and ammunition trains bound to the enemy's left to press the already broken right of the Confederate line.
        Some had actually gone to sleep for the night. Others were huddled around the fires in the little huts, and a few sat out on the hillside discussing the probabilities of the near future. A most peaceful scene -- a most peaceful spot. Hymns were sung and prayers were made, though no preacher was there. Memory reverted fondly to the past, to home and friends. The spirit of the soldier soared away to other scenes and left him to sit blankly down, gaze at the stars and feel unspeakable longings for undefined joys, and weep, for very tenderness of heart, at his own sad loneliness.
        At 10 P.M. some man, mounted on horseback, rode up to one of the huts and said the battalion had orders to move. It was so dark that his face was scarcely visible. In a few minutes orders were received to destroy what could be destroyed without noise or fire. This was promptly done. Then the companies were formed, the roll w as called and the battalion marched slowly and solemnly away. No one doubted that the command would march at once to the assistance of the troops at or near Five Forks. It was thought that before morning every man would have his musket and his supply of ammunition, and the crack of day would see the battalion rushing into battle in regular infantry style, whooping and yelling like demons. But they got no arms that night. The march was steady till broad day of Monday the 3d of April. Of course the men felt mortified at having to leave the guns, but there was no help for it, as the battery horses which had been sent away to winter had not returned. It was evident that the battalion had bid farewell to artillery and commenced a new career as infantry.
        As the night wore on the men learned that the command was not going to any point on the lines. That being determined, no one could guess its destination. Later in the night, probably as day approached, the sky in the direction of Richmond was lit with the red glare of distant conflagration, and at short intervals there were deep, growling explosions as of magazines. The roads were filled with other troops, all hurrying in the same direction. There was no sign of panic or fear, but the very wheels seemed turning with unusual energy. The men wore the look of determination, haste and eagerness. One could feel the energy which surrounded him and animated the men and things which moved so steadily on, on, on ! ! There was no laughing, singing or talking. Nothing but the steady tread of the column and the surly rumbling of the trains.
        As morning dawned, the battalion struck the main road leading from Richmond. Refugees told the story of the evacuation and informed the boas from the city that it was in the hands of the enemy and burning, and the chances were that not one house would be left standing. Here it became clearly understood that the whole army was in full retreat. From this point the men began to say, as they marched, that it was easier to march away than it would be to get back, but that they expected and hoped to fight their way back if they had to contest every inch. Some even regretted the celerity of the march, for, they said, "the further we march the more difficult it will be to win our way back." Little did they know of the immense pressure at the rear and the earnest push of the enemy on the flank as he strove to reach and overlap the advance of his hitherto defiant but now retreating foe.
        A detail had been left at Fort Clifton with orders to spike the guns, blow up the magazine, destroy everything which could be of value to the enemy, and rejoin the command. The order was obeyed, and every man of the detail resumed his place in the ranks.
        From this point to Appomattox, the march was almost continuous, day and night, and it is with the greatest difficulty that a private in the ranks can recall with accuracy the dates and places on the march. Night was day, -- day was night. There was no stated time to sleep, eat or rest, and the events of morning became strangely intermingled with the events of evening. Breakfast, dinner and supper were merged into "something to eat" whenever and wherever it could be had. The incidents of the march, how ever, lose none of their significance on this account, and, so far as possible, they will be given in the order in which they occurred and the day and hour fixed as accurately as they can be by those who witnessed and participated in its dangers and hardships.
        Monday the 3d the column was pushed along without ceremony at a rapid pace until night, when a halt was ordered and the battalion laid down in a piece of pine woods to rest. There was some "desultory" eating in this camp, but so little of it that there was no lasting effect. At early dawn of Tuesday the 4th, the men struggled to their feet, and with empty stomachs and brave hearts resumed their places in the ranks, and struggled on with the column as it marched steadily in the direction of Moore's church, in Amelia county, where it arrived in the night. The men laid down under the shelter of a fine grove, and friend divided with friend the little supplies of raw bacon and bread picked up on the day's march. The men were scarcely stretched on the ground and ready for a good nap, when the orderly of the Howitzers commenced bawling, "Detail for guard!! Detail for guard!! Fall in here, fall in!" Then followed the names of the detail. Four men answered to their names, but declared they could not keep awake if placed on guard. Their remonstrance was in vain. They were marched off to picket a road leading to camp, and when they were relieved said they had slept soundly on their posts. No one blamed them.
        While it was yet night, all hands were roused from profound sleep, the battalion was formed and away they went, stumbling, bumping against each other, and sleeping as they walked. Whenever the column halted for a moment, as it did frequently during the night, the men dropped heavily to the ground and were instantly asleep. Then the officers would commence: "Forward! column forward!!" Those first on their feet stumbling on over their prostrate comrades, who would in turn be awakened, and again the column was in motion, and nothing heard but the monotonous tread of the weary feet, the ringing and rattling of the trappings of the horses and the never ending cry of "Close up men, close up!!"
        Through the long, weary night there was no rest. The alternate halting and hurrying was terribly trying and taxed the endurance of the most determined men to the very utmost; and yet on the morning of Wednesday the 5th, when the battalion reached the neighborhood of "Scott's Shops," every man was in place and ready for duty. From this point, after some ineffectual efforts to get a breakfast, the column pushed on in the direction of Amelia Courthouse, at which point Colonel Cutshaw was ordered to report to General James A. Walker, and the battalion was thereafter a part of Walker's division. The 5th was spent at or near the Courthouse -- how, it is difficult to remember; but the day was marked by several incidents worthy of record.
        About two hundred and twenty five muskets (not enough to arm all the men), cartridges and caps were issued to the battalion: simply the muskets and ammunition. Not a cartridge box, cap box, belt or any other convenience ornamented the persons of these newborn infantrymen. They stored their ammunition in their pockets along with their corn, salt, pipes and tobacco.
        When application was made for rations, it was found that the last morsel belonging to the division had been issued to the command, and the battalion was again thrown on its own resources, to wit: corn on the cob intended for the horses. Two ears were issued to each man. It was parched in the coals, mixed with salt, stored in the pockets and eaten on the road. Chewing the corn was hard work. It made the jaws ache and the gums and teeth so sore as to cause almost unendurable pain.
        After the muskets were issued a line of battle was formed with Cutshaw on the right. For what purpose the line was formed the men could not tell. A short distance from the right of the line there was a grove which concealed an ammunition train which had been sent from Richmond to meet the army. The ammunition had been piled up ready for destruction. An occasional musket ball passed over near enough and often enough to produce a realizing sense of the proximity of the enemy and solemnize the occasion. Towards evening the muskets were stacked, artillery style of course, the men were lying around, chatting and eating raw bacon, and there was general quiet, when suddenly the earth shook with a tremendous explosion and an immense column of smoke rushed up into the air to a great height. For a moment there was the greatest consternation. Whole regiments broke and fled in wild confusion. Cutshaw's men stood up, seized their muskets and stood at attention till it was known that the ammunition had been purposely fired and no enemy was threatening the line. Then, what laughter and hilarity prevailed, for awhile among these famishing men!
        Order having been restored, the march was resumed, and moving by way of Amelia springs, the column arrived near Deatonsville about ten o'clock the morning of Thursday the 6th. The march though not a long one, was exceedingly tiresome, as the main roads being crowded, the column moved by plantation roads, which were in wretched condition, and crowded with troops and trains. That the night was spent in the most trying manner, may be best learned from the fact that when morning dawned the column was only six or seven miles from the starting point of the evening before.
        This delay was fatal. The whole army -- trains and all -- left Amelia Courthouse in advance of Walker's division, which was left to cover the retreat -- Cutshaw's battalion being the last to leave the Courthouse, thus bringing up the rear of the whole army, and being in constant view of the enemy's hovering cavalry. The movement of the division was regulated to suit the movements of the wagon trains, which should have been destroyed on the spot, and the column allowed to make its best time, as owing to the delay it occasioned the army lost the time it had gained on the enemy in the start, and was overtaken the next day.
        At Deatonsville another effort to cook was made, but before the simplest articles of food could be prepared, the order to march was given, and the battalion took the road once more.
        A short while after passing Deatonsville, the column was formed in line of battle -- Cutshaw's battalion near the road and in an old field with woods in front and rear. The officers, anticipating an immediate attack, ordered the men to do what they could for their protection. They immediately scattered along the fence on the roadside, and taking down the rails stalked back to their position in line, laid the rails on the ground and returned for another load. This they continued to do until the whole of the fence was removed. Behind this slim defence they silently awaited the advance of the enemy.
        Soon it was decided that this was not the place to make a stand. The first detachment of the Second company of Richmond Howitzers, and twenty men each from Garber and Fry, under the command of Lieutenant Henry Jones, were left behind the fence rail work, with orders to resist and retard the advance of the enemy while the column continued its march.
        This little band was composed of true spirits -- the best material in the battalion. Right well did they do their duty. Left alone to face the advance of the immense host eagerly pursuing the worn remnant of the invincible army, they waited until the enemy's skirmishers appeared in the field, when, with perfect deliberation, they commenced their fire. Though greatly outnumbered and flanked right and left, they stubbornly held on till the line of battle following the skirmishers broke from the woods and advancing rapidly, poured into them a murderous volley. And yet, so unused were they to running, they moved not till the infantry skirmishers had retired and the word of command was heard. Then stubbornly contesting the ground, they fought their way back through the woods. The gallant Lieutenant Jones fell mortally wounded, having held control of his little band to the moment he fell. His friend K refused to leave him, and they were captured together, but immediately separated by the enemy. P was pierced through and through by a musket ball as he was hurrying through the woods, and fell heavily to the ground. B was severely wounded, but managed to escape. H was killed outright.
        The battalion had left this point but a short time, marching in column of fours with the division, and had reached the brow of a gently sloping hill, perfectly open for perhaps a mile, with a broad valley on the left, and beyond it a range of hills partly wooded. In an open space on this range the enemy placed a battery in position, and in anticipation of doing great slaughter from a safe distance, opened a rapid fire on the exposed and helpless column. The shells came hurtling over the valley, exploding in front, rear and overhead, and tearing up the ground in every direction. Ah! how it grieved those artillerymen to stand, musket in hand, and receive that shower of insolence. How they longed for the old friends they had left at Fort Clifton. They knew how those rascals on the other side of the valley were enjoying the sport. They could hear in imagination the shouts of the cannoneers as they saw their shells bursting so prettily, and rammed home another shot.
        There was some impediment ahead, and there the column stood, a fair mark for these rascals. There was no help near, and all that could be done was to stand firm and wait orders; but help was coming!
        A cloud of dust was approaching from the rear of the column. All eyes were strained to see what it might mean. Presently the artillerymen recognized the well known sound. A battery was coming in full gallop, the drivers lashing their horses, and yelling like madmen. The guns bounded along as though they would outrun the horses, and with rush, roar and rattle they approached the front of the battalion. Some fellow in the Second company Howitzers sung out "Old Henry Carter!!! Hurrah! for the Third company!! Give it to 'em, boys!!" It was indeed the Third company of Howitzers, long separated from the Second, with their gallant captain at their head!
        Not a moment was lost. The guns were in battery, and the smoke of the first shot was curling about the heads of the men in the column in marvelously quick time. Friends and comrades in the column called to the men at the guns, and they, as they stepped in and out, responded with cheerful, ringing voices: "Hello Bill!" "How are you Joe?" Bang!! "Pretty" -- Bang!! -- "well, I thank you." Bang!! "Oh! we're giving it to 'em now." Bang!!!
        As the battalion moved on, the gallant boys of the Third company finished their work. The disappointed enemy limbered up, slipped into the woods and departed. Cheered by this fortunate meeting with old comrades and with the pleasant odor of the smoke lingering around them, these hitherto bereft and mournful artillerymen pushed on, laughing cheerily at the discomfiture of the enemy, and feeling that though deprived of their guns by the misfortunes of war, there was still left at least one battery worthy to represent the artillery of the army.
        As the column marched slowly along, some sharp eyed man discovered three of the enemy's skirmishers in a field away on the left. More for amusement than anything else, it was proposed to fire at them. A group of men gathered on the roadside, a volley was fired, and to the amazement of the marksmen, for the distance was great, one of the skirmishers fell. One of his comrades started on a run to his assistance, and he, too, was stopped. The third man then scampered away as fast as his legs could carry him. The battalion applauded the good shots and marched on.
        At Sailor's creek the detachment which had been left at Deatonsville behind the fence rails to watch and retard the approach of the enemy, having slowly retired before their advance, rejoined the command. Indeed, their resistance and retreat was the beginning of and ended in the battle of Sailor's creek.
        The line of battle was formed on Locket's hill, which sloped gently down from the line to the creek, about one hundred and fifty or two hundred yards in rear of and running nearly parallel with the line of battle. A road divided the battalion near the centre. The Howitzers were on the left of this road and in the woods; Garber's men were on the right of the Howitzers, on the opposite side of the road, in a field; Fry's men on the extreme left. To cross the road dividing the line was a hazardous experiment, as the enemy, thinking it an important avenue, swept it with musketry.
        It was amusing to see the men hauling out of their pockets a mixture of corn, salt, caps and cartridges, and, selecting the material needed, loading. They were getting ready to stand. They did not expect to run, and did not until ordered to do so.
        The enemy's skirmishers advanced confidently and in rather free and easy style, but suddenly met a volley which drove them to cover. Again they advanced in better order, and again the improvised infantry forced them back. Then came their line of battle, with overwhelming numbers; but the battalion stubbornly resisted their advance. The men, not accustomed to the orderly manner of infantry, dodged about from tree to tree, and with the deliberation of huntsmen picked off here and there a man. When a shot. "told," the marksman hurrahed! all to himself. There was an evident desire to press forward and drive the advancing foe. Several of the men were so enthusiastic that they had pushed ahead of the line, and several yards in advance they could be seen, loading and firing as deliberately as though practicing at a mark.
        Colonel Cutshaw received a wound which so shattered his leg that he had to be lifted from his horse into an ambulance. He was near being captured, but by hurrying away the ambulance at a gallop, he escaped to a house a short distance in the rear, where he fell into the hands of the enemy. The same night he suffered amputation of a leg. Captain Garber was struck, and called for the ambulance corps, but on examination found the ball in his pocket. It had lodged against the rowel of a spur which he found the day before and dropped in his pocket.
        At last the enemy appeared in strong force on both flanks, while he pushed hard in front. It was useless to attempt a further stand. The voice of Captain Jones, of the Howitzers, rang out loud and clear: "Boys, take care of yourselves!" Saying this, he planted himself against a pine, and as his men rushed by him, emptied every chamber of his revolver at the enemy, and then reluctantly made his way, in company with several privates, down the hill to the creek.
        At the foot of the hill a group of perhaps a dozen men gathered around Lieutenant McRae. He was indignant. He proposed another stand, and his comrades agreed. They stood in the road facing the gentle slope of the hill from which they had been ordered to retire. The enemy's skirmishers were already on the brow of hill, dodging about among the trees and shouting to those behind to hurry up. Their favorite expressions were "Come along, boys, here are the damned Rebel wagons!" "Damn 'em, shoot 'em down!"
        In a few moments their line of battle, in beautiful order, stepped out of the woods with colors flying, and for a moment halted. In front of the centre of that portion of the line which was visible - - probably a full regimental front -- marched the colors and color guard. McRae saw his opportunity. He ordered his squad to rise and fire on the colors. His order was promptly obeyed. The color bearer pitched forward and fell, with his colors, heavily to the ground. The guard of two men on either side shared the same fate, or else feigned it. Immediately the line of battle broke into disorder and came swarming down the hill, firing, yelling and cursing as they came. An officer, mounted, rode his horse close to the fence on the roadside, and with the most superb insolence mocked McRae and his squad, already, as he thought, hopelessly intermingled with the enemy. McRae, in his rage, swore back at him, and in the hearing of the man called on a man near him to shoot "that ------ ------", calling him a fearfully hard name. But the private's gun was not in working order, and the fellow escaped -- for the time. Before he reached the woods, whither he was going to hurry up the "boys," a Howitzer let fly at him, and at the shock of the bullet's stroke, he threw his arms up in the air and his horse bore him into the woods a corpse.
        A little to the left, where the road crossed the creek, the crack of pistols and the "bang" of muskets was continuous. The enemy had surrounded the wagons and were mercilessly shooting down the unarmed and helpless drivers, some of whom, however, managed to cut the traces, mount and escape.
        In order to escape from the right of the line, it was necessary to follow the road, which was along the foot of the hill, some distance to the left. The enemy seeing this, were pushing their men rapidly at a right oblique to gain the road and cut off retreat. Consequently, those who attempted escape in that direction had to run the gauntlet of a constant fusillade from a mass of troops near enough to select individuals, curse them and command them to throw down their arms or be shot.
        Most of McRae's squad, in spite of the difficulties surrounding them, gained the creek, plunged in, and began a race for life up the long, open hillside of plowed ground, fired upon at every step by the swarm of men behind, and, before they reached the top, by a battery in close proximity, which poured down a shower of canister.
        The race to the top of the long hill was exceedingly trying to men already exhausted by continual marching, hunger, thirst and loss of sleep. They ran, panting for breath, like chased animals, fairly staggering as they went.
        On the top of this long hill there was a skirmish line of cavalry posted with orders to stop all men with arms in their hands and form a new line, but the view down the hill to the creek and beyond revealed such a host of the enemy, and the men retiring before them were so few, that the order was disregarded and the fleeing band allowed to pass through.
        The men's faces were black with powder. They had bitten cartridges until there was a deep black circle around their mouths. The burnt powder from the ramrods had blackened their hands, and in their efforts to remove the perspiration from their faces they had completed the coloring from the roots of the hair to the chin. Here was no place for rest, however, as the enemy's battery behind the creek on the opposite hills, having gotten the range, was pouring in a lively fire. Soon after passing the brow of the hill, darkness came on. Groups of men from the battalion halted on the roadside, near a framed building of some sort, and commenced shouting, "Fall in Howitzers!!" "This way Garber's men!!" "Fry's battery!!" "Fall in!!" "Cutshaw's battalion fall in here!!" Thus of their own accord trying to recover the organization from its disorder. Quite a number of the battalion got together, and in spite of hunger, thirst, defeat and dreadful weariness, pushed on to the High bridge. So anxious were the men to escape capture and the insinuation of desertion that when threatened with shooting by the rear guard, if they did not move on, they scarcely turned to see who spoke; but the simple announcement "the Yankees are coming!" gave them a little new strength, and again they struggled painfully along, dropping in the road sound asleep, however, at the slightest halt of the column.
        At the bridge there was quite a halt, and in the darkness the men commenced calling to each other by name -- the rascally infantry around, still ready for fun -- answering for every name. Brother called brother, comrade called comrade, friend called friend; and there were many happy reunions there that night. Some, alas! of the best and bravest did not answer the cry of anxious friends.
        Before the dawn of day the column was again in motion. What strange sensations the men had as they marched slowly across the High bridge. They knew its great height, but the night was so dark that they could not see the abyss on either side. Arrived on the other side, the worn- out soldiers fell to the ground and slept more dead than alive. Some had slept as they marched across the bridge, and declared that they had no distinct recollection of when they left it, or how long they were upon it.
        Early on the morning of the 7th, the march was resumed and continued through Farmville, across the bridge and to Cumberland heights, overlooking the town. Here, on the bare hillside, a line of battle was formed, for what purpose the men did not know -- the Howitzers occupying a central place in the line, and standing with their feet in the midst of a number of the graves of soldiers who had perished in the hospitals in the town.
        While standing thus in line a detail was sent into the town to hunt up some rations. They found a tierce of bacon surrounded by a ravenous crowd, fighting and quarreling. The man on duty guarding the bacon was quickly overpowered, and the bacon distributed to the crowd. The detail secured a piece and marched back triumphantly to their waiting comrades.
        After considerable delay the line broke into column and marched away in the direction of Curdsville. It was on this march that Cutshaw's battalion showed itself proof against the demoralization which was appearing, and received, almost from the lips of the Commander in Chief, a compliment of which any regiment in the army might be proud.
        All along the line of march the enemy's cavalry followed close on the flanks of the column, and whenever an opportunity offered swooped down upon the trains. Whenever this occurred the battalion, with the division, was faced towards the advancing cavalry and marched in line to meet them, generally repulsing them with ease. In one of these attacks the cavalry approached so near the column that a dash was made at them, and the infantry returned to the road with General Gregg, of the enemy's cavalry, a prisoner. He was splendidly equipped and greatly admired by the ragged crowd around him. He was or pretended to be greatly surprised at his capture. When the column had reached a point two or three miles beyond Farmville, it was found that the enemy was driving in the force which was protecting the marching column and trains. The troops hurrying back were panic stricken, all efforts to rally them were vain, and the enemy was almost upon the column.
        General Gordon ordered General Walker to form his division and drive the enemy back from the road. The division advanced gallantly, and conspicuous in the charge was Cutshaw's battalion. When the line was formed, the battalion occupied rising ground on the right. The line was visible for a considerable distance. In rear of the battalion there was a group of unarmed men under command of Sergeant Ellett, of the Howitzers. In the distribution of muskets at Amelia Courthouse the supply fell short of the demand and this squad had made the trip so far unarmed. Some, too, had been compelled to ground their arms at Sailor's creek. A few yards to the left and rear of the battalion, in the road, was General Lee, surrounded by a number of officers, gazing eagerly about him. An occasional musket ball whistled over, but there was no enemy in sight. In the midst of this quiet a general officer at the left and rear of the battalion, fell from his horse, severely wounded. A messenger was sent from the group in the road to ask the extent of his injury. After a short while the enemy appeared, and the stampeded troops came rushing by. Cutshaw's battalion stood firmly and quietly, as if on parade, waiting orders. General officers galloped about, begging the fleeing men to halt, but in vain. Several of the fugitives, as they passed the battalion, were collared by the disarmed squad, relieved of their muskets and ammunition, and with a kick allowed to proceed to the rear. There was now between the group in the road and the enemy only the battalion of improvised infantry. There they stood, on the crest of the hill, in sharp relief. Not a man moved from his place. Did they know the Great Commander was watching them? Some one said "forward," the cry passed from lip to lip and with cheers the battalion moved rapidly to meet the enemy, while the field was full of the stampeded troops making to the rear. A courier came out with orders to stop the advance, but they heeded him not. Again he came, but on they went. Following the line was the unarmed squad, unable to do more than swell the volume of the wild shouts of their comrades. Following them also was the commissary department, consisting of two men, with a piece of bacon swung on a pole between them, yelling and hurrahing. As the line advanced, the blue jackets sprang up and ran through the broom straw like hares, followed by a shower of balls. Finally an officer -- some say General Gordon, and others an aid of Longstreet's -- rode out to the front of the battalion, ordered a halt, and in the name of General Lee thanked the men for their gallant conduct and complimented them in handsome style. His words were greeted with loud cheers, and the battalion marched back to the road carrying several prisoners and having retaken two pieces of artillery which had been abandoned to the enemy. After the enemy was driven back out of reach of our trains and column of march and the troops were in line of battle, General Lee in person rode up in rear of the division, and addressing himself directly to the men in ranks (a thing very unusual with him), used language to this effect: "That is right men; that is all I want you to do. Just keep those people back awhile. I do not wish you to expose yourselves to unnecessary danger." Mahone's division then coming up, took the place of Walker's, and the march was resumed. The battalion passed on, the men cutting slices from their piece of bacon and eagerly devouring them. As night came on the signs of disaster increased. At several places whole trains were standing in the road abandoned, artillery, chopped down and burning, blocked the way, and wagon loads of ammunition were dumped out in the road and trampled under foot. There were abundant signs of disaster. So many muskets were dropped on the road that Cutshaw's unarmed squad armed itself with abandoned muskets, ammunition and equipments. There was a halt during the night in a piece of stunted woods. The land was low and sobby. In the road passing through the woods stood several batteries, chopped down and deserted. There was a little flour on hand, which had been picked up on the road. An oilcloth was spread, the flour placed on it, water was found, and the dough mixed. Then some clean partition boards were knocked out of a limber chest, the dough was spread on them and held near the fire till partially cooked. Then, with what delight, it was devoured!
        At daybreak Saturday the march was resumed and continued almost without interruption during the whole day -- the men, those whose gums and teeth were not already too sore, crunching parched corn and raw bacon as they trudged along. Saturday night the battalion rested near Appomattox Courthouse in a pine woods. Sunday morning, April 9th, after a short march, the column entered the village of Appomattox Courthouse, marching by what seemed to be the main road. Several dead men, dressed in the uniform of United States regular artillery, were lying on the roadside, their faces turned up to the blaze of the sun. One had a ghastly wound in the breast, which must have been made by grape or canister.
        On through the village without halting marched the column. "Whitworth" shots went hurtling through the air every few minutes, indicating very clearly that the enemy was ahead of the column and awaiting its arrival. On the outskirts of the village the line of battle was formed. Indeed, there seemed to be two lines -- one slightly in advance of the other. Wagons passed along the line dropping boxes of cartridges, which the men were ordered to knock open and supply themselves with forty rounds each. They filled their breeches' pockets to the brim. The general officers galloped up and down the line, apparently hurrying everything as much as possible. The shots from a battery in advance were continually passing over the line, going in the direction of the village, but without harm to any one. The more experienced men predicted a severe struggle. It was supposed that this was to be an attack with the whole army in mass, for the purpose of breaking through the enemy's line and making one more effort to move on.
        Finally the order "forward!" ran along the line, and as it advanced the chiefs of detachments, gunners and commissioned officers marched in rear, keeping up a continual cry of "Close up men, close up!" "Go ahead now, don't lag!" "Keep up!" Thus marching, the line entered a body of woods, proceeded some distance, changed direction to the left, and emerging from the woods, halted in a large open field, beyond which was another body of woods which concealed further view in front.
        After some delay, a detail for skirmish duty was ordered. Captain Jones detailed four men, -- Fry and Garber the same number. Lieutenant McRae was placed in command. The infantry detailed skirmishers for their front. All arrangements completed, the men deployed and entered the woods. They had advanced but a short distance, when they encountered a strong line of picket posts. Firing and cheering they rushed on the surprised men, who scampered away, leaving all their little conveniences behind them, and drove them for about a mile. From this point large bodies of the enemy were visible, crowding the hilltops like a blue or black cloud. It was not many minutes before a strong line of dismounted cavalry, followed by mounted men, deployed from this mass to cover the retreat of their fleeing brethren and restore the picket line. They came down the hills and across the fields, firing as they came. On looking around to see what were the chances for making a stand, Lieutenant McRae found that the infantry skirmishers had been withdrawn. The officer who had commanded them could be seen galloping away in the distance. The little squad, knowing they were alone, kept up a brisk fire on the advancing enemy, till he was close up in front and well to the rear of both flanks. On the left, not more than two hundred yards, a column of cavalry, marching by twos, had crossed the line and were still marching, as unconcernedly as possible, to the rear of McRae. Seeing this, McRae ordered his squad to retire, saying at the same time, "But don't let them see you running, boys! "
        So they retired, slowly, stubbornly and returning shot for shot with the enemy, who came on at a trot, cheering valiantly, as they pursued four men and a lieutenant. The men dragged the butts of their old muskets behind them, loading as they walked. All loaded, they turned, halted, fired, received a shower of balls in return, and then again moved doggedly to the rear. A little lieutenant of infantry, who had been on the skirmish line, joined the squad. He was armed with a revolver and had his sword by his side. Stopping behind the corner of a corn crib he swore he would not go any further to the rear. The squad moved on and left him standing there, pistol in hand, waiting for the enemy, who were now jumping the fences and coming across the field, running at the top of their speed. What became of this singular man no one knows. He was, as he said, "determined to make a stand." A little further on the squad found a single piece of artillery, manned by a lieutenant and two or three men. They were selecting individuals in the enemy's skirmish line and firing at them with solid shot! Lieutenant McRae laughed at the ridiculous sight, remonstrated with the officer and offered his squad to serve the gun, if there was any canister in the limber chest. The offer was refused, and again the squad moved on. Passing a cow shed about this time, the squad halted to look with horror upon several dead and wounded Confederates who lay there upon the manure pile. They had suffered wounds and death upon this the last day of their country's struggle. Their wounds had received no attention and those living were famished and burning with fever.
        Lieutenant McRae, noticing a number of wagons and guns parked in a field near by, surprised at what he considered great carelessness in the immediate presence of the enemy, approached an officer on horseback and said, in his usual impressive manner, "I say there! what does this mean?" The man took his hand and quietly said: "We have surrendered." "I don't believe it, sir!" replied McRae, strutting around as mad as a hornet; "you mustn't talk so, sir! you will demoralize my men!" He was soon convinced, however, by seeing Yankee cavalrymen walking their horses around as composedly as though the Army of Northern Virginia had never existed. To say that McRae was surprised, disgusted, indignant and incredulous is a mild way of expressing his state of mind as he turned to his squad and said: "Well, boys, it must be so, but it's very strange behavior. Let's move on and see about it." As though dreaming, the squad and the disgusted officer moved on.
        Learning that the army had gone into camp, the skirmishers went on in the direction of the village and found the battalion in the woods near the main road. Fires were burning and those who had been fortunate enough to find anything eatable were cooking. Federal troops were riding up and down the road and loafing about the camps trying to be familiar. They seemed to think that "How are you, Johnny?" spoken in condescending style, was sufficient introduction.
        During the day a line of men came single file over the hill near the camp, each bearing. on his shoulder a box of "hard tack" or crackers. Behind these came a beef, driven by soldiers. The crackers and beef were a present from the Federal troops near, who, knowing the famishing condition of the surrounded army, had contributed their day's rations for its relief. All honor to them. It was a soldierly act which was thoroughly appreciated.
        The beef was immediately shot and butchered, and before the animal heat had left the meat, it was impaled in little strips on sticks, bayonets, swords and pocket knives, roasting over the fires.
        Though numbers of the enemy visited the camps and plied the men with all sorts of questions, seeming very curious and inquisitive, not an unkind word was said on either side that day. When the skirmishers under McRae entered the camp of the battalion, their enthusiastic descriptions of driving the enemy and being driven in turn failed to produce any effect. Many of the men were sobbing and crying, like children recovering from convulsions of grief after a severe whipping. They were sorely grieved, mortified and humiliated. Of course they had not the slightest conception of the numbers of the enemy who surrounded them.
        Other men fairly raved with indignation, and declared their desire to escape or die in the attempt; but not a man was heard to blame General Lee. On the contrary, all expressed the greatest sympathy for him and declared their willingness to submit at once, or fight to the last man, as he ordered. At no period of the war was he held in higher veneration or regarded with more sincere affection, than on that sad and tearful day.
        In the afternoon of Tuesday the 11th, the little remnant of the army remaining was massed in a field. General Gordon spoke to them most eloquently, and bid them farewell. General Walker addressed his division, to which Cutshaw's battalion was attached, bidding them farewell. In the course of his remarks he denounced fiercely the men who had thrown down their arms on the march, and called upon the true men before him to go home and tell their wives, mothers, sisters and sweethearts how shamefully these cowards had behaved.
        General Henry A. Wise also spoke, sitting on his horse and bending forward over the pommel of his saddle. Referring to the surrender, he said: "I would rather have embraced the tabernacle of death." There were many heaving bosoms and tear stained faces during the speaking. A tall, manly fellow, with his colors pressed to his side, stood near General Gordon, convulsed with grief.
        The speaking over, the assembly dispersed and once more the campfires burned brightly. Night brought long needed rest. The heroes of many hard fought battles, the conquerors of human nature's cravings, the brave old army, fell asleep -- securely guarded by the encircling hosts of the enemy. Who will write the history of that march? Who will be able to tell the story? Alas! how many heroes fell!!
        The paroles, which were distributed on Tuesday the 11th, were printed on paper about the size of an ordinary bank check, with blank spaces for the date, name of the prisoner, company and regiment, and signature of the commandant of the company or regiment. They were signed by the Confederate officers themselves, and were as much respected by all picket officers, patrols, &c., of the Federal army as though they bore the signature of U.S. Grant. The following is a copy of one of these paroles, recently made from the original:

Appomattox Courthouse, Virginia,
April 10th, 1865

The bearer, Private -------- ------- , of Second company Howitzers, Cutshaw's battalion, a paroled prisoner of the Army of Northern Virginia, has permission to go to his home and there remain undisturbed.

L. F. JONES,
Captain Commanding Second Company Howitzers.

        The "guidon," or color bearer, of the Howitzers had concealed the battle flag of the company about his person, and before the final separation cut it into pieces of about four by six inches, giving each man present a piece. Many of these scraps of faded silk are still preserved, and will be handed down to future generations. Captain Fry, who commanded after Colonel Cutshaw was wounded, assembled the battalion, thanked the men for their faithfulness, bid them farewell, and read the following:

Headquarters Army Northern Virginia,
Appomattox Courthouse, April 10th, 1865.

GENERAL ORDER No. 9.

        After four years of arduous service, marked by unsurpassed courage and fortitude, the Army of Northern Virginia has been compelled to yield to overwhelming numbers and resources. I need not tell the brave survivors of so many hard fought battles, who have remained steadfast to the last, that I have consented this result from no distrust of them; but feeling that valor and devotion could accomplish nothing that would compensate for the loss that must have attended a continuance of the contest, I determined to avoid the useless sacrifice of those whose past services have endeared them to their countrymen.
        By the terms of agreement, officers and men can return to their homes and remain until exchanged. You will take with you the satisfaction that proceeds from the consciousness of duty faithfully performed, and I earnestly pray that a merciful God will extend to you his blessing and protection.
        With an unceasing admiration of your constancy and devotion to your country, and a grateful remembrance of your kind and generous consideration for myself, I bid you all an affectionate farewell.

R. E. Lee.

        This grand farewell from the man who had in the past personified the glory of his army and now bore its grief in his own great heart, was the signal for tearful partings. Comrades wept as they gazed upon each other, and with choking voices said, farewell! And so, - - they parted. Little groups of two or three or four, without food, without money, but with "the satisfaction that proceeds from the consciousness of duty faithfully performed," were soon plodding their way homeward.