Captain Haskell had no hope that there would be any such change in the conduct of the war. He seemed depressed by Mr. Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation, which, he saw, would effectually put an end to hope of aid or intervention from Europe. His hope in the success of the South was high, however. The North might be strong, but the South had the righteous cause. He was saddened by the thought that the war would be a long one, and that many men must perish.
I had read much from books borrowed from other men in my spare time, from newspapers, and from magazines; and my questions had led Captain Haskell to talk for half an hour, perhaps more freely than he thought.
He told me to say nothing to the men concerning the prospect for a long war. He seemed serious rather than gloomy. For my part, it mattered little that the war should be long. I had almost ceased to expect any discovery of my former home and friends, and the army seemed a refuge. What would become of me if the war should end suddenly? I did not feel prepared for any work; I know no business or trade. Even if I had one, it would be tame after Lee's campaigns.
XXX
TWO SHORT CAMPAIGNS
"What boots the oft-repeated tale of strife,
The feast of vultures, and the waste of life?
The varying fortune of each separate field,
The fierce that vanquish, and the faint that yield?"
--BYRON.
Longstreet's corps had marched out by the Valley, and now occupied a line east of the Blue Ridge; Jackson remained yet at Bunker Hill. We heard that Burnside had superseded McClellan; speculation was rife as to the character of the new commander. It was easy to believe that the Federal army would soon give us work to do; its change of leaders clearly showed aggressive purpose, McClellan being distinguished more for caution than for disposition to attack.
On November 22d we moved southward, up the Shenandoah Valley. The march lasted many days. We passed through Winchester, Strasburg, Woodstock, and turned eastward through Massanutten Gap, and marched to Madison Court-House. From Madison we marched to Orange, and finally to Fredericksburg, where the army was again united by our arrival on December 3d. The march had been painful. For part of the time I had been barefoot. Many of the men were yet without shoes.
The weather was now cold. Snow fell. I was thinly clad. On the morning of December 4th, after a first night in bivouac in the lines, I awoke with a great pain in my chest and a "gone" feeling generally. The surgeon told me that I had typhoid pneumonia, and ordered me to the camp hospital, which consisted of two or three Sibley tents in the woods. I was laid on a bed of straw and covered with blankets.