stricting their
appetites to the supply. But there were always some improvident ones,
who never had a supply ahead, but were always in straights for grub.
They were ready to black boots, clean guns, in fact, do any sort of
menial work for their comrades for a snack to eat. Their improvidence
made them the drudges of the company.

Whatever may be said about other portions of the rations, the coffee was
always good. I never saw any poor coffee, and it was a blessing it was
so, for it became the soldiers' solace and stay, in camp, on picket and
on the march. Tired, footsore, and dusty from the march, or wet and cold
on picket, or homesick and shivering in camp, there were rest and
comfort and new life in a cup of hot coffee. We could not always have it
on picket nor on the march. To make a cup of coffee two things were
necessary besides the coffee, namely, water and fire, both frequently
very difficult to obtain. On picket water was generally plentiful, but
in the immediate presence of the enemy, fire was forbidden, for obvious
reasons. On the march both were usually scarce, as I shall show later
on. How was our coffee made? Each man was provided with a pint tin cup.
As much coffee as could comfortably be lifted from the haversack by the
thumb and two fingers--depending somewhat on the supply--was placed in
the cup, which was filled about three-fourths full of water, to leave
room for boiling. It was then placed upon some live coals and brought to
a boil, being well stirred in the meantime to get the strength of the
coffee. A little cold water was then added to settle it. Eggs, gelatin,
or other notions of civilization, for settling, were studiously (?)
omitted. Sometimes sugar was added, but most of the men, especially the
old vets, took it straight. It was astonishing how many of the "wrinkles
of grim visaged war" were temporarily smoothed out by a cup of coffee.
This was the mainstay of our meals on the march, a cup of coffee and a
thin slice of raw pork between two hardtacks frequently constituting a
meal. Extras fell in the way once in a while. Chickens have been known
to stray into camp, the result of a night's foraging.

Among the early experiences of our boys was an incident related to me by
the "boy" who was "it." He said he had a mighty narrow escape last
night.

I asked, "How was that?"

"Out hunting for chickens, struck a farmhouse, got a nice string, and
was sneaking my way out. Dark as tar. Ran up against