"When I was in Western Virginny, under Rosecrans,"—
"The old start and good for a yarn," said an officer.
"Good for facts," replied the Chief of the Detail.
"Never mind, Captain, we'll take it as fact," said the Adjutant.
"We had a chaplain that was a chaplain in every sense of the word."
"Did he drink and swear?" inquired a member of the Detail.
"On long marches and in fights he had a canteen filled with what he called chaplain's cordial, about one part whiskey and three water. I tasted it, but with little comfort. One day, a member of Rosy's staff seeing him pulling at it, asked for it, and after a strong pull, told the chaplain that he was weak in spiritual things. 'Blessed are the poor in spirit,' was the quick answer of the chaplain. As to swearing, he was never known to swear but once.
"I heard an officer tell the Adjutant a day or two ago, that what was considered the prettiest sentence in the English language, had been written by a smutty preacher. I don't recollect the words as he repeated it, but it was about an old officer, who nursed a young one, and some one told him the young one would die. The old officer excited, said, 'By G—d, he sha'nt die.' It goes on to say then that an Angel flew up to heaven, to enter it in the great Book of Accounts, and that the Angel who made the charge cried over it and blotted it out. That is the substance anyhow. Well, sir, if the Third Virginny's Chaplain's oath was ever recorded it is in the same fix."
"Well, tell us about it, how it happened," exclaimed several.