WHERE IS THE OVEN?
Army life is not specially conducive to personal cleanliness, nor to a high regard for the minor proprieties of life. A young lady visiting Camp McKenzie, near Augusta, Ga., during the Spanish-American war, was shocked by seeing a soldier drop a piece of bread upon the ground and after picking it up resume its mastication. If this sketch should meet her eye, that feeling will probably be reawakened and intensified:
During the later years of the Confederate war wash basins in camp were an unknown quantity. The morning ablution, if performed at all, was managed by pouring water on the hands from a canteen. Lieut. Blanchard, I remember, always held his hands in cup shape until they were filled and then dropped one, spilling all the liquid and washing his face with the moistened palm of the other. In the bitter cold and constant marching of the Nashville campaign I am satisfied that some of the boys did not wash their faces nor comb their hair at less than weekly intervals. As evidence of the infrequency of "bath tub nights" for reasons stated, I recall the fact that I lost a calico handkerchief and thought I had dropped it on the march. Some weeks afterwards in removing my outer clothing for the first time after its disappearance, I found it hidden away underneath the back of my vest. On our return to Corinth, Miss., my mess took their underclothing to a lady to be washed and as they had been wearing it a month or more without change, they apologized for its condition. "No apology is necessary," she said, "I have washed some for Forrest's cavalry that was so stiffened with dirt that they were able to stand alone."
How we managed to keep our pedal extremities in a cleanly condition I do not recall save in a single instance and this, it is perhaps not amiss to say, was an exceptional case and not a company custom. A member of the Oglethorpes one day began his preparations for the midday meal. One of the cooking utensils was missing and he sang out, "Where is the oven?" A messmate some distance away shouted back, "Can't you wait till I finish washing my feet in it?" I am not prepared to testify as to the flavor of the bread that day as fortunately, I was not a member of that particular mess.