d with
sugar and spice and everything nice, to another half inch in thickness;
rolled up into a long roll and then rolled up in a clean towel or flour
sack, tied up and dropped into a pot of boiling water and boiled until
done. When done the cloth unrolled and the contents cut into sections
one-half an inch thick and deluged with "butter and sugar" sauce, it
delightfully filled all the spaces and perhaps somewhat distended a
Confederate soldier's stomach, who had already enjoyed a real good
turkey and fixings dinner. What a change that was from the regular
daily diet of corn pone and rancid bacon, boiled with cowpeas
containing about three black weevils to the pea. As some declared most
of the peas were already seasoned enough without any bacon. At such
times soldiers would live lavishly. They knew, "we are here today,
where we shall be tomorrow, no one can tell." We enjoyed our good
things while we could. When they were gone, we would get back to
cornbread and bacon or beef hash or boiled beef as best we could, and
very often the transition "was awful sudden." In winter quarters, we
might be saving, and make good things last as long as possible but in
intervals of a campaign, we would live whilst we could and "take no
thought for the morrow."

While on the subject of "grub," who of us does not think of our
efficient "boss" cook, Tom Potts? Can not each of us see him now in
this camp behind Missionary Ridge. There he sits day and night (except
perhaps 9:00 or 10:00 p.m. to 3:00 a.m. when he sleeps) in his split
bottom chair, in front of the center pole of his tent. Behind him his
wall tent, each side piled up with boxes and barrels and sacks of meal,
flour, salt, sugar, bacon, the only man in camp who always has a good
tent because it is absolutely a necessity. A tall, slouch-shouldered
man, wide brim felt hat, black hair almost to his shoulders, complexion
very dark, long black moustache and whiskers and eternally, when awake,
a big black meerschaum in his mouth, puffing away. Very quiet, slow
soft spon, he occasionally gives some directions about the cooking to
the negroes and to the white soldiers detailed to cook. He is nothing
of a hustler, but he has directed negroes from his boyhood up and is as
efficient a "boss cook" as the army contained without any bluster. Six
or eight feet in front of him, a big hickory oak fire, say ten feet
long, with glowing coals under the logs, skillets, ovens and pots all
occupied in