It is true many have backslidden since they left home; but is equally true that very many have been reformed, and are now better men than when they enlisted. Every day’s history proves that there are thousands of noble hearted, pure minded christians in our army, and none but traitors and infidels, the enemies of God and man, will deny this fact.
CHAPTER VI.
THE MARCH TO YORKTOWN—SCARCITY OF SUPPLIES—CAMP COOKERY—DIFFERENT CHARACTERS IN THE ARMY—ARRIVAL OF TRAINS—CHANGE OF CAMP—TRYING TO SHELL US OUT—THE OLD SAW-MILL—A CONSTANT TARGET—ASSAULTS ON OUR OUTPOSTS—A REBEL APPEAL—YORKTOWN AND VICINITY—THE SITUATION—BALLOON RECONNOISSANCES—PROF. LOWE ON HIGH—REBEL VIXENS—A CURIOUS VISIT—A STRANGE HOSTESS—SHE TRIES TO KILL ME—I WOUND HER AND CAPTURE A PRISONER—A CONVERSION—THE SECESH WOMAN BECOMES A FEDERAL NURSE.
On to Richmond once more resounded through the camp, and the army was again in motion. The Yorktown road is one long to be remembered, especially by those who that day had to toil through its mud and mire, or, by making a mis-step, fall into one of the yawning chasms from which some unfortunate mule had been drawn. The rain had continued almost all the time we were encamped at Hampton, “saturating the clayey soil, which soon became a vast bed of mortar under the artillery trains.” The distance from Hampton to Yorktown is about twenty-three miles, and it required all the determination and energy of veterans to march half that distance in a day. With two days’ rations in their haversacks, the men marched until they arrived in front of Yorktown, where they bivouacked on the ground, over which the water was running like a flood. We remained three days in that condition, and it was the first time I ever saw anything like scarcity of food in the army.
It was scarce indeed, for we were only supplied with two days’ rations on starting from Hampton. The fifth day had arrived, but no provisions had yet appeared, and it seemed morally impossible to get a supply train over the road. Mile after mile of corduroy bridge had to be made before a team dare venture to approach. Our horses, too, were as badly off for forage as the men were for provisions. On the fifth day, with several others, I received permission to go out and buy what we could at the houses anywhere within three miles of our encampment.
After procuring a quantity of biscuit, pies, and corn bread, we returned to camp, and were quite surprised to find the boys engaged in cutting up and cooking fresh steak. We thought, of course, our provisions had arrived, but found that it was only a little dash they had just made upon the “chivalry’s” cattle, appropriating them to their own use with a sort of earnestness which seemed to say, I firmly believe in the old proverb, Aide toi, et le ciel t’aidera.
Oh, what a place the army is for the study of human nature! As I looked around upon that mass of busy men, I thought I could discover almost every trait in the human character depicted upon their countenances. There was the selfish man, only intent upon serving himself, and fearing there would not enough come to his share to satisfy his wants; then there was old churlish Nabal away by himself building a fire for his own especial benefit, and which “no man dare approach unto,” no, not within baking, broiling, or roasting distance, not even to get a coal to kindle one for himself. But that class of character, thank heaven, was a very small minority. There, too, was the cheerful, happy man, who had been several hours engaged in cutting up and serving out to others, and had no lot or part in the broiled steaks which were smoking around him; yet he looked as good natured as if he had dined on roast beef and plum pudding. Then there was another phase of character—one who always made it the first duty, under all circumstances, to look after those who were not able to look after themselves.
While the little trials of camp life have a tendency to harden and sour the dispositions of some, they seem to bring to light and develop the cheerful, happy, unselfish spirit of others. One has truthfully said that “there is no other quality so diffusive of joy, both to him who possesses it and to those with whom he has friendly intercourse, as cheerfulness. It is the phase of a soul sitting in its own sunshine. There are luminous planets which are viewed by the aid of their own light, others there are which are seen through borrowed light. So it is with individuals. There seem to be some who have scarcely any light of their own, and who shine by the reflection of the light of others; while others there are who possess an intrinsic and inexhaustible source of sunshine, which renders them not only self-illuminating, but capable of irradiating those around them. Many are cheerful when a sparkling rill of pleasure is gurgling in their hearts, or when prosperity encircles them, or looms up gorgeously in their prospective vision. But few are cheerful when adversity casts its gloomy shadows around them; when sorrow and disappointment dry up their fountains of pleasure and wither their hopes. In such crises cheerfulness is an independent virtue, and in others an accidental mood.”
The despondency of the few was soon removed, and the patience and cheerfulness of the many rewarded by the arrival of the provision and baggage trains. We then exchanged our camp for one in a more pleasant locality, where there was more wood and not quite so much water, which added much to the comfort of the troops. The enemy soon found out our position, and did not fail to inform us of the fact by frequently saluting us with an immense shell, or thirty-two pound cannon ball, which would burst over our heads or fall within a few rods—often within a few feet—of our tents. We remained in that camp just one month, and, notwithstanding the enemy shelled us night and day, I never saw a man or beast injured by shot or shell in camp while we remained there.