Both were so intent upon the question that neither took any notice of the little orderly in a dirty uniform who was riding near them.
My impression then was that Stoneman was too much of a regular of the old school to disobey an order, even if he knew it would result in great good to his cause.
Whether there was such an order from headquarters can perhaps be established from the records—
That one could have gone into Richmond was freely admitted by the general officer in command.
We returned to our old camps at Fredericksburg again. In this way I hovered about that ill-fated Fredericksburg during all that winter, and until the movement to Gettysburg, without once having an opportunity to get into the town, though our troops had been there. It was my luck to have been absent at the time. For some unfathomable reason, the fates were against me every time.
I shall never do this subject justice until I write a novel, giving the entire story.
Fredericksburg during all these days presented, from our side, a gloomy, deserted appearance. There were always a few Confederate sentries on duty, which we could see on the streets. At the river crossing, or ferry, an occasional flag-of-truce boat would be rowed over, but on these occasions the General Staff-officers conducted the courtesies. Men and orderlies were invariably placed to prevent any but the two officers interested from getting a word with the Confederates.
Right here I will remark that I've witnessed innumerable flag-of-truce exchanges, but I do not recall a single instance in which a bottle was not passed around as a preliminary to the business in hand. I presume the custom originated from the Indians smoking the pipe of peace.
One funny remark on an occasion of this sort remains in my memory. An enlisted man near me, seeing a Rebel taking a long pull at the flask of Union commissary, which our officer presented with a supercilious bow, said: "Well, I'm —— if this is not getting to be too much of a civil war." He probably felt disgusted because he did not have an opportunity at the flask.
One day I was startled by the sounds of artillery, and an accompaniment, which, to me, resembled more than anything I can compare it with, a whole lot of carpenters tearing down a frame house. One would have thought there was a man with a hatchet, pounding sharply on every board, as if they were having a contest among themselves to see who could hit the fastest.