IV. VARIOUS THINGS—ALL INTERESTING.
Huckleberries are ripe in the wilderness around Camp Alger, and many boys from Missouri are getting their first taste of the berry immortalized in the name of Tom Sawyer's adventurous friend. Dewberries also find many a nook in the woods and the fallow fields, where of mornings they gleam fresh and black on their low running vines. But most abundant of all are the blackberries. The vines were in blossom when we were at Jefferson Barracks, and we thought we should like to be there—if not at Porto Rico or Manila—when the berries should be ripe; but we find them more abundant around our present camp and of a fine, large growth. Joaquin Miller advised the Virginians to "plow up their dogs and plant vineyards." Were I a Virginian I should present to view such a field as Solomon said belonged to the sluggard, "Lo, it was all grown over with thorns."
There can hardly be a better berry-growing region anywhere than among these old, yellow hills, in sight of the nation's capital. All kinds of berries of a fine quality grow well here by nature, which proves that soil and season are congenial. Under cultivation, as here and there you may see them, the yield is large and the quality excellent. The boys on their visits to the "ole swimmin' hole" usually get not only plenty of good fresh country milk, but scatter through the woods and get a taste of some kind of berries, or quickly buy out any vender they may chance to meet.
The "ole swimmin' hole" is in Accotink Creek, above Tobin's mill. It is just such a place as every one of us was familiar with in boyhood. At the bend of the creek the water deepens, and the old sycamores, leaning half-way across the stream, cast a cooling shade. One aged trunk, with broad limbs, slants up from the water's edge to the deepest place, as if it had at some time said to itself, "Now, I'll make this an ideal swimming hole by furnishing the boys a place to plunge from." And so here is where the "immortal boy," since before George Washington surveyed the estate of Lord Fairfax, has spent such happy hours as live in the memory of the man forever.
The most prolonged and thorough bath the boys have taken was when they were out last week on their three days' march. Having pitched their flies—small tents just large enough for two men to creep under and sleep with their feet sticking out—officers and men make for the little stream like thirsty oxen on the plains. After a long and dusty march could they desire anything more delightful than what was offered by the cool depths of "Difficult Run?" The bountiful heavens, doubtless with the best intentions, sent them also a shower-bath. And such an one as it was! We thought it could rain at Jefferson Barracks. It doesn't rain so frequently here, but when it does rain it leaves nothing more to be asked for in that line.
The little stream was lashed into a fury, and the boys had to dive to keep from getting wet through. It rains on and on, and pours ever harder. It doesn't matter if the bathers do think they have enough—they get more. And where, meanwhile, are their clothes they would fain put on dry? They are taking a swim, too, and the dust of the hills far away is being thoroughly beaten out of them. Imagine the scene. The features of the picture, if you were to sketch it with Hogarth lines, would be high green hills rising steeply on either side; a narrow, winding valley, through which wanders the little stream; on the west bank of this rivulet, occupying the whole width of the vale and sloping up to meet the low pines on the western hills, some 2,000 toy-like tents, known in soldiers' parlance as "dog-tents" and "flies;" torrents of rain; in the spray and mist of mingling waters an indefinite number of indistinct forms appearing somewhat like the interminable line of royal ghosts in Macbeth. There was no complaint in camp of dry weather for twenty-four hours. D——, of Company C, had the opportunity of his life presented him, for he is an expert with the pencil, his talent amounting almost to genius.
Skirmishing in the woods and out-marches to the Potomac occupied the following day. For discipline the troops behaved with such caution and vigilance as they would observe in the enemy's country. And in the enemy's country, indeed, they were. That night, just after call to quarters had sounded and quiet had settled down upon the populous village of nomads, the order was passed through camp for every man to be ready to repel a sudden night attack, as a regiment of cavalry had been discovered in the neighborhood by the scouts. You might then have heard a hum of excitement and bustle of preparation, while a thousand bayonets clanked in their sockets and the boys placed their guns by their sides. As for the chaplain, he lay awake straining to catch every challenge and response in the most distant sentry lines, and expecting every moment to hear the blood-chilling yell of the on-rushing enemy as their horses should dash into our camp. The first thing he realized was a quick jerk given to his booted foot sticking from under his "fly," and then the words, "Up, Chaplain, the cavalry's coming." A red streak lay along the eastern sky above the hills; there was a low hum in camp, which was gradually increasing. Lieut.-Col. W——'s good-natured laugh said that it was all a joke, and the chaplain, without having to wait to dress, went off grumbling to the creek to wash his face and get ready for 4 o'clock breakfast. The enemy, for reasons sufficient to themselves, failed to carry out their programme.
Before sunrise the entire Third Regiment, leading the Third Brigade, having broken camp, was formed along the winding road that trails up the hillsides from the little valley, and was ready for the command "Forward." Before the dew had yet wholly vanished from the clover, and before the ripening blackberries had lost their morning coolness, we marched into the old camp led by the band playing "Dixie." We had marched about twelve miles in three hours and forty-five minutes, and only three men had to be brought in in the ambulances. It was remarked by some one that we went so fast we could not read the signs in Dunn Loring. Capt. S——'s funny man said it was because the chaplain was in front and he was leading them in "the straight and narrow way." Most of the officers marched with the men, and all enjoyed their morning walk.