About nine o’clock we received orders to “forward,” and, passing through the town, struck the York turnpike, which was pursued for a mile, when we filed to the right and marched across the open country until we neared the Hanover road, when the command “on right by file into line” was given, (for we had been marching right in front,) and the Second Maryland Infantry took its place in the line of battle, where so many of the noble spirits who composed it were to bleed and die in the dreadful conflict about to ensue.
CHAPTER VI.
That night the troops slept upon their arms, prepared to resume hostilities or repel an attack at a moment’s notice. Colonel Herbert and myself selected a spot somewhat retired from the main body, and, after picketing the horses, laid ourselves down to sleep. To sleep, did I say? To rest I should have said, for it was many hours ere I closed my eyes in sleep. A thousand recollections of the past presented themselves. I thought of home and the loved ones there; of many incidents attending the two eventful years of carnage and bloodshed through which I had been spared where so many died. Truly God had been merciful, and I offered up a silent prayer that I might survive the fight of the coming morrow. And then I thought of the hundreds around me who were taking their last sleep save that which knows no waking; of those in dream, dreaming of their once happy homes, of wives and children, of fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, and sweethearts, but to awake in the morning only to the dread reality.
At early dawn I arose from my blanket hungry and unrefreshed. The Colonel appeared in the same condition, for after rubbing his eyes and looking around him for a minute he broke forth with:
“Why in the devil didn’t you think of making old man Sheeley give you some of the cooked provisions out of the mess chest? Now the wagons are the Lord knows where, and here we are sucking our thumbs to appease hunger. I can go twenty-four hours without eating, but darned if I like it to be an hour over that time.”
“And pray, sir, why didn’t you ask Mr. Sheeley for some of the provisions in the mess chest?” I inquired.
“Because I didn’t think of it.”
“And neither did I; but if you will promise to say nothing more about Sheeley and the mess chest I will introduce you to a little private arrangement of my own.”
The Colonel looked up inquiringly for a moment, and although he said nothing, I could plainly read in his countenance “Oh do.”
At the battle of Winchester, some weeks previous, I secured a number of large sized boxes of sardines, all of which I had given away, save one. This I had in my saddle pocket, along with a small flask of brandy that I procured as we passed through Greenvillage. I had kept it a secret, for on the march you have plenty of visitors if you are known to possess a flask of liquor. Here was an emergency, however, and it was for an emergency I had saved it. The flask and sardines were speedily produced, and for the first time in twenty-four hours I saw the Colonel smile. And then he took the cork out of the flask, threw back his head and smiled again, and, as he lowered the uplifted arm, I discovered considerable daylight through the bottle he had smiled at. Ahem, like master like man, and I followed his example. Then the sardines were discussed, and we grew amiably disposed, and we talked and talked about—everybody and everything but Sheeley and his mess chest.