emselves and
in their adored leader. They had seen "Marse Robert" ride down that
road, they knew he was at the front, and that was all they _cared_ to
know. The thing was _bound_ to go right--"Wasn't Lee there?" And the
devil himself couldn't keep them from going where Lee went, or where he
wanted them to go. God bless them, living, or dead, for their loyal
faith, and their heroic devotion!

=Peace Fare and Fighting Rations!=

I have alluded to rations; they were scarce here, as always when any
fighting was on hand. Even in camp, where all was at its best, we had
for rations, per day, one and a half pints of flour, or coarse
cornmeal,--ground with the _cob_ in it we used to think,--and
one-quarter of a pound of bacon, or "mess pork," or a pound, far more
often half a pound, of beef.

But, in time of a fight! Ah then, thin was the fare! That small ration
dwindled until, at times, eating was likely to become a "lost art." I
have seen a man, Bill Lewis, sit down and eat three days' rations at one
time. He said "He did not want the trouble of carrying it, _and_ he did
want _one_ meal occasionally that wasn't an empty form." The idea seemed
to be that a Confederate soldier would _fight_ exactly in proportion as
he _didn't eat_. And his _business_ was to _fight_. This theory was put
into practice on a very close and accurate calculation; with the odds
that, as a rule, we had against us, in the battles of the Army of
Northern Virginia, we had to meet two or three to one. Then, each
Confederate soldier was called upon to be equal to two or three Federal
soldiers, and, therefore, each Confederate must have but _one-half_ or
_one-third_ the rations of a Federal soldier. It was easy figuring, and
so it was arranged in practice.

It was eminently so in this campaign, from the first. When we left camp,
on the 4th a few crackers and small piece of meat were given us, and
devoured at once. That evening, and on this day, the 5th, we received
_none at all_, and in that hard, forced march we became very hungry. An
incident that occurred will show how hungry we were. As we passed the
hamlet of Verdiersville, I noticed a little negro boy, black as the "ace
of spades" and dirty as a pig, standing on the side of the road gazing
with staring eyes at the troops, and holding in his hand a piece of
ash-cake, which he was eating. A moment after I passed him, our dear old
comrade and messmate, Dr. Carter, the cleanest and most particular man