"Oh! why did you go for a soldier?" sang our little news-boy, tauntingly, as he capered behind a big burly Dutchman in the rear rank, who had encountered all manner of misfortune that morning,—missing his coffee—and what is a man worth on a day's march without coffee—because it was too hot to drink, when the bugle sounded the call to fall in, his meat raw, not even the smell of fire about it, and his crackers half roasted; his clothes, too, half on, belts twisted, knapsack badly made up. As he grumbled over his mishaps, in his peculiar vernacular, laughter commenced with the men, and ended in a roar at the song of the news-boy.
A crowd gathers food for mirth from the most trivial matters. Incidents that would not provoke a smile individually, convulse them collectively. Men under restraint in ranks are particularly infectious from the influence of the passions. With lightning-like rapidity, to misapply a familiar line—
"They pass from grave to gay, from lively to severe."
Snicker's Gap, which drew its euphoneous name from a First Virginia family that flourished in the neighborhood, was one of the coveted points. In the afternoon our advance occupied it, and the neighboring village of Snickersville; fortunately first perhaps, in force, or what is most probable, considering results, amused by a show of resistance to cover the main Rebel movement then rapidly progressing
further down the valley. From whatever cause, firing—musketry and artillery—was heard at intervals all the latter part of the afternoon; and as the troops neared the Gap, they were told that the Rebels had been driven from it across the river, and that it was now in our possession. Night was rapidly setting in as the division formed line of battle on the borders of the village. A halt but for a few moments. Their position was shortly changed to the mountain slope below the village. Down the valley sudden flashes of light and puffs of smoke that gracefully volumed upwards, followed by the sullen roar of artillery, revealed a contest between the advancing and retreating forces. That fire-lit scene must be a life picture to the fortunate beholders. Directly in front and on the left, thousands of camp fires burning in the rear of stacks made from line-of-battle, blazed in parallel rows, regular as the gas-lights of the avenues of a great city, and illumining by strange contrasts of light and shade the animated forms that encircled them. Far down to the right, the vertical flashes from the cannon vents vivid as lightning itself, instantly followed by horizontal lurid flames, belched forth from their dread mouths, lighting for the instant wood and field, formed the grandest of pyrotechnic displays. Rare spectacle—in one magnificent panorama, gleaming through the dark mantle of night, were the steady lights of peaceful camps, and the fitful flashing of the hostile cannon.
"Fall in, fall in!" cried the officers, at the bugle call, and in a few moments the Brigade was in motion. Some in the ranks, with difficulty, at the same time managing their muskets and pails of coffee that had not had time to cool; others munching, as they marched, their half-fried crackers, and cooling with hasty breath smoking pieces of meat, while friendly comrades did
double duty in carrying their pieces. The soldier never calculates upon time; the present is his own when off duty, and he is not slow to use it; the next moment may see him started upon a long march, or detailed for fatigue duty, and with a philosophy apt in his position, he lives while he can.
The road through Snickersville, and up the romantic gorge or gap between the mountains, was a good pike, and in the best marching condition. At the crest the Brigade undoubled its files, and entered in double ranks a narrow, tortuous, rocky road, ascending the mountain to the left, leading through woods and over fields so covered with fragments of rock, that a country boy in the ranks, following up a habit, however, not by any means confined to the country, of giving the embodiment of evil the credit of all unpleasant surroundings, remarked that "the Devil's apron-strings must have broke loose here." That night march was a weary addition to the toil of the day. A short cut to the summit, which existed, but a mile in length, and which the Commander of the Force to which the Brigade formed part, could readily have ascertained upon inquiry, would have saved a great amount of grumbling, many hard oaths, for Uncle Toby's army that "swore so terribly in Flanders," could not outdo in that respect our Grand Army of the Potomac,—and no trifling amount of shoe-leather for Uncle Sam. The night was terribly cold, and the wind in gusts swept over the mountain-top with violence sufficient to put the toil-worn man, unsteady under his knapsack, through the facings in short order. Amid stunted pines and sturdy undergrowth, the Regiments in line formed stacks, and the men, debarred fire from the exposed situation, provided what shelter they could, and endeavored to
compose themselves for the night. Vain endeavor. So closely was that summit shaved by the pitiless blasts, that a blanket could only be kept over the body by rolling in it, and lying face downwards, holding the ends by the hands, with the forehead resting on the knapsack for a pillow. Some in that way, by occasionally drumming their toes against the rocks managed to pass the night; many others sought warmth or amusement in groups, and others gazed silently on the camp-fires of the enemy, an irregular reflex of those seen on the side they had left—here glimmering faintly at a picket station, and there at a larger encampment, glowing first in a circle of blaze, then of illumined smoke, that in its upward course gradually darkened into the blackness of night. To men of contemplative habits, and many such there were, though clad in blouses, the scene was strongly suggestive. Our states emblemed in the lights of the valleys and the mountain ridge as the much talked of "impassable barrier." But faith in the success of a cause Heaven founded, saw gaps that we could control in that mountain ridge which would ultimately prove avenues of success.
"Captain, where did you make the raise?" inquired a young Lieutenant, on the following day,—one of a group enjoying a blazing fire, for the ban had been removed at early dawn—of a ruddy-faced, sturdy-looking officer, who bore on his shoulder a tempting hind quarter of beef.