It was at this time that General Early was distinguishing himself in the Shenandoah Valley with repeated defeats in battle, the first news of which reached us in a peculiar way; that is, when the news reached Grant's lines a shotted salute in celebration was fired at us, thus "killing two birds with one stone." These volleys of shot and shell produced consternation among the negroes working on our fortifications. Panic-stricken, they would break for the rear, casting aside picks, shovels, or anything that retarded speed; and to get them and their scattered tools gathered up after such a stampede required several days. I was requested, by a negro who had just experienced one of these escapades, to write a letter for him to his home people. He dictated as follows:
"My dear Wife: I take this opportunity of taking you down a few words and telling you of the terrible bumming we was under yesterday. The shells fell fast as hail and lightened as from a cloud, and we had a smart run. Give my love to Mammy and tell her how we is sufferin' for somethin' to eat."
Then followed some other pieces of news; then love to various kinsmen, with a message to each of how they were "sufferin' for somethin' to eat."
The space between the two sections of our battery was occupied by infantry. I particularly remember the Nineteenth Georgia Regiment, a game body of men, whose excellent band furnished us fine music. It was ordered, during the winter, to North Carolina and lost—killed in battle soon after—its colonel and adjutant, Neil and Turner. A mile in rear of our lines stood a church, a substantial frame building, which, for want of better use, was converted into a theater. As in the recent drafting every department of life had been invaded, a very respectable element of a histrionic turn was to be found in the ranks. The stage scenery, as one would imagine, was not gaudy and, of course, did not afford equipment for high art in the strict sense; but the doleful conditions of home life now in vogue in the South and the desperate straits for food and existence in camp afforded a fund of amusement to those of us who were inclined to pluck sport from hopeless conditions.
One of the performers—named Nash—was a first-rate comedian. As an interlude he gave a representation of an attempt made by the people to furnish the army a Christmas dinner. To give an idea of what a failure such an undertaking would naturally be, when the people themselves were almost destitute, one thin turkey constituted the share for a regiment close by us, while our battery did not get so much as a doughnut. Nash, in taking the thing off, appeared on the stage with a companion to propound leading questions, and, after answering one query after another, to explain the meaning of his droll conduct, drew his hand from the side pocket of his blouse and, with his head thrown back and mouth wide open, poured a few dry cracker crumbs down his throat. When asked by the ringman what that act signified, he drawled out, in lugubrious tones, "Soldier eating Christmas dinner!" The righteous indignation produced among the few citizens by such sacrilegious use of a church soon brought our entertainments to a close.
Our time was frequently enlivened by visits to Richmond. By getting a twenty-four-hour leave we could manage to spend almost forty-eight hours in the city. On a pass—dated, for instance, January 13—we could leave camp immediately after reveille and return in time for reveille on the fifteenth.
That this would be the last winter that Richmond would be the capital of the Confederacy, or that the Confederacy itself would be in existence, was a feeling experienced by all, but was too painful a subject for general discussion. The gaiety of the place under such conditions, viewed at this remote day, seems astonishing. There the Confederate Congress and the Virginia Legislature held their sessions; and there were the numerous employees of State and Nation, and refugees from various parts of the South, and, besides, it was the great manufacturing center of that section, employing mechanics and artisans of every calling. For four years this mixed multitude had listened to the thunder of cannon almost at their doors, and had seen old men and boys called out by day and by night to meet some extraordinary emergency, while it was no uncommon occurrence for hundreds of sick, wounded, and dead men to be borne through the streets to the overflowing hospitals and cemeteries. One surprising feature of it was to see how readily all adapted themselves to such a life.
My first social visit, in company with my messmate, James Gilmer, of Charlottesville, Virginia, was to call on some lady friends, formerly of Winchester. We found these ladies starting to an egg-nog at the house of some friends—the Misses Munford—with instructions to invite their escorts. This position we gladly accepted, and were soon ushered into the presence of some of the celebrated beauties of Richmond, and were entertained as graciously as if we had been officers of high rank. The climax of this visit was as we were returning to camp the next afternoon. We overtook Tazwell McCorkle, of Lynchburg, the only member of our company who could afford the luxury of being married and having his wife nearby. He had just received a box from home, and invited us to go with him to his wife's boarding-house and partake of its contents. While enjoying and expressing our appreciation of the good things, McCorkle told us of the impression the sight of old-time luxuries had made on their host, Mr. Turner, a devout old Baptist, who, with uplifted hands, exclaimed, as it first met his gaze, "Pound-cake, as I pray to be saved!"