“I think I had—the mould was so ingenious. You remember I invented it myself.”
“You haven’t exposed the fact that it’s our last pound of coffee, treasured up for this journey?”
“Certainly not.”
“Nor that the tea grew in Texas?”
“No.”
“Don’t—a few such secrets exposed will destroy the whole effect of the bill. And now, if the dinner isn’t too much for you, let us box up the stove, while those delicate young gentlemen wash the dishes.”
So we boxed up the stove, and washed the dishes, and lit our pipes, and sat looking in the glowing camp-fire. And then our three naval Captains crawled into a tight little shelter-tent, where they suffocated and perspired, and caught cold. The army part of the mess spread their blankets and lay down, with their feet against a smoking log, their heads resting on their knapsacks, and their eyes watching the stars, which twinkled them asleep.
The bugle called us long before daylight to prepare our breakfast and re-load the wagons. I cannot pay Captain Davis a better compliment, than by saying that for five successive mornings we moved off at precisely 6–45, and then for six successive mornings at precisely seven. This day the road ran over some fine rolling country, occasionally clean and park-like, with stately trees sprinkled here and there, and entirely free from young wood and underbrush. The weather was delightful, but we went into camp before two o’clock, after a march of only fourteen miles.
The next morning as we started, a cold gust of north wind struck us. It was not a “norther,” but a sudden change of weather from warm to cold. All the morning we breasted it, and it blew keener and keener as the day advanced. Early in the afternoon we encamped in an open wood, which gave but poor shelter from the piercing gale. The little stream that formed our watering place was coated with ice, and the ice grew thicker with each hour. We set ourselves at the work of unloading the wagons and the heavier work of chopping wood for the large camp-fire that must burn all night. The stove went up and puffed and steamed as usual, and all endeavored to impress upon the mind of our amateur chef that this extreme cold was only an additional reason that we should eat.
“While we were fresh from a sharp walk, with the blood stirred by the active labors of the camp, we were comfortable enough. When we first threw ourselves down before the fire all aglow, saying we were thankful that the work was done, we still felt indifferent to the cold north wind. But presently it crept in, and sent a shivering chill over the frame. Then the nervous energy relaxed, and one felt great need of a warm room where he could hide himself from the blast, and fall asleep if only for an hour. The dinner and the hot tea that accompanied it braced us up somewhat, and fitted us for bed. Our three naval friends again crawled into their shelter-tent, where (inasmuch as it was at a prudent distance from the fire) they nearly froze to death. The remainder of the mess used the shelter-tent, a large tree and the stove box as a wind-break, and put their feet almost in the fire. For some hours we all slept soundly, as men must who have marched and worked since long before day. But although the blankets were drawn over our heads and the wind-break seemed to afford ample protection, the cutting air pushed its way in. It crawled through the hair and curled itself round the neck, and sent the same shivery chills over the body. I rose and warmed myself by rolling a couple of large logs on the fire, and prizing them into their places. The scene around me was wild in the extreme, for every mess had built a large fire, and the flames of these leaped and roared in the blast, and sent large sparks flying through the tree-tops; while in the fiery light, picturesque figures could be seen crouching over the embers or throwing fresh wood into the flames.”