Before leaving the regiment I reported to the adjutant, telling him where I could be found at need, and promising to send in further reports if Dr. Khayme's camp should be moved. At this period of the campaign there was but little activity anywhere along our lines; in fact, the lines had not been fully developed, and, as there was a difficult stream between us and the enemy, there was no room for enterprise. Here and there a reconnaissance would be made in order to learn something of the position of the rebels on the south side of the river, but such reconnaissances consisted mostly in merely moving small bodies of our troops up to the swamp and getting them fired upon by the Confederate artillery posted on the hills beyond the Chickahominy. On this day, the 22d, while Dr. Khayme and I were at dinner, we could hear the sounds of guns in two places, but only a few shots.
"I have your uniform, Jones," said the Doctor.
"From a wounded prisoner?"
"Yes; but you need fear nothing. It has seen hard service, but I have had it thoroughly cleaned. It is not the regulation uniform, perhaps, since it has the South Carolina State button, but in everything else it is the correct thing."
"I hope I shall not need it soon," said I.
"Why? Should you not wish to end this miserable affair as quickly as possible?"
"Oh, of course; but I shall not put on rebel clothing as long as I can do as well with my own,"
"There is going to be some murderous work up the river--or somewhere on your right--in a day or two," said the Doctor. "General Butterfield has given stringent orders for no man to leave camp for an hour."
"Who is General Butterfield?"
"He commands a brigade in Porter's corps. We are just in rear of his camp--Morell's division."