"I move that it be referred back for report on the Commissary," said a Lieutenant, after another equally stiff round.
The Adjutant would not withdraw his motion,—no chairman to preserve order,—brandy good,—drinks frequent, and in the confusion that ensued we close the chapter, remarking only that the Commissary was spared to the old Rebel, through an order to march at four next morning, that came to hand near midnight.
CHAPTER XII.
The March to Warrenton—Secesh Sympathy and Quarter-Master's Receipts—Middle-Borough—The Venerable Uncle Ned and his Story of the Captain of the Tigers—The Adjutant on Strategy—Red-Tapism and Mac-Napoleonism—Movement Stopped—Division Head-Quarters out of Whiskey—Stragglers and Marauders—A Summary Proceeding—Persimmons and Picket-Duty—A Rebellious Pig—McClellanism.
The order to march at four meant moving at six, as was not unfrequently the case, the men being too often under arms by the hour shivering for the step, while the Staff Officers who issued the orders were snoozing in comfortable blankets. Be the cause what it might that morning, the soldiers probably did not regret it, as it gave them opportunity to see the lovely valley of the Shenandoah exposed to their view for the last time, as the fog gradually lifted before the rays of the rising sun. The Shenandoah, like a silver thread broken by intervening foliage, lay at their feet. Far to the right, miles distant, was Charlestown, where old John's soul, appreciative of the beauties of nature at the dread hour of execution, seeing in them doubtless the handiwork of nature's God, exclaimed "This is indeed a beautiful country." In the front, dim in the distance, was Winchester, readily discovered by the bold mountain spur in its rear. Smaller villages dotted the valley, variegated
by fields and woods—all rebellious cities of the plain, nests of treason and granaries of food for traitors. A blind mercy that, on the part of the Administration, that procured its almost total exemption from the despoiling hand of war.
Some in the ranks on Snicker's Summit that fine morning could remember the impudent Billingsgate of look and tongue with which Mrs. Faulkner would fling in their faces a general pass, from a wagon loaded with garden truck for traitors in arms at Bunker Hill—but an instance of long continued good-nature, to use a mild phrase, of the many that have characterized our movements in the field. Well does the great discerner of the desires of men as well as delineator of the movements of their passions, make Crook Richard on his foully usurped and tottering throne exclaim,