The armies of the North and the armies of the South had been concentrating for months prior to the battle of Bull Run, resulting in the defeat of the Northern troops and in heavy loss to both sides; after collision came recoil, as of mighty waves dashing against a rock bound coast. Predatory bands of disorganized soldiers from both sides roamed the country, and, in many instances, not plundering merely, but ruthlessly destroying what they could not seize.
Mr. Diggs had found his company the day after the battle, and narrated to his comrades his hair-breadth escape and the many heroic deeds which he had performed, among others, the deadly attack on the Confederate cavalryman, who had wounded him in the shoulder. He became quite a hero in Corporal Grimm's eyes, his experience at Bull Run reminding the corporal of incidents that had happened in his ten days' military service under General Preston, also recalling to the mind of Sergeant Swords details of his own service under Captain Strong, all of which was circumstantially narrated for the edification of Mr. Diggs, who again rejoiced that he had not carried out his rash threat of leaving the army. Laurels yet, he knew, must crown his brow. Already he had become a hero. True, when faced by danger and death and sorely tried, he acknowledged to himself that he wavered; but, in the quiet of camp, his patriotism returned and he again felt ready to meet the foe.
The day after the battle, the body of Willie Thornbridge was consigned to its last resting-place. There were but two mourners gathered over that little mound of earth—his captain and Uncle Dan, the scout, who felt, not only grief for the brave young life so early ended, but a deeper pain for the widowed mother at home, now childless.
Colonel Holdfast's regiment was falling back toward the Junction, its old head-quarters. Their movements were necessarily slow, as they were constantly recruiting, and they were compelled to be wary, for small parties of stragglers were occasionally picked up by independent companies of Confederates.
One evening Corporal Grimm suggested to Sergeant Swords that they form an independent foraging corps of half a dozen and make a raid on the turkeys of an old rebel, about a mile from the camp, that night. The sergeant acquiesced—we never knew a sergeant who would not acquiesce in such a plan, even at the risk of being reduced to the ranks—and they were not long in finding plenty of volunteers. The corps must not exceed six, as the secret could not be so well kept among more, and a larger force could not be so well handled.
Our friend Diggs was easily persuaded to enter into the project. For the last two days he had been contemplating writing a book, to be entitled "Camp Life," narrating his own experiences. This freak, he thought, might afford a diverting incident.
Great caution and secrecy were necessary, for, if knowledge of their project reached head-quarters, it would have put an end to their sport. At dark, having provided themselves with a dark lantern, they passed the guard and wended their way over the long hill toward the barn-yard of the old rebel. The night was very dark with a rainy mist or fog, which made darkness and discomfort more intense.
"Now, boys," said Sergeant Swords, "this is an old rebel, and we have a perfect right to confiscate his turkeys; but let us be quiet about it, so as not to disturb the old man."
"Of course," said Corporal Grimm, "let him rest in peace, and dream sweet dreams of the coming glory of the Southern Confederacy."
They stole noiselessly over the damp ground, occasionally chuckling with delight at the thought of their coming feast. The long hill was passed over and the barn reached, where the unsuspecting rebel turkeys were roosting.