g
cabin of "old Brownie," the "greasy cook," who called us to
"bean--oh!" with so resonant a shout, and majestically served out our
rations of pork, "salt horse," coffee long-boiled and sickeningly
sweet, hardtack, and the daily loaf of a singularly despondent-looking
bread.

My "buddy" and I slept on opposite sides of our winter residence. The
bedsteads were made of poles laid lengthwise and lifted about two feet
from the ground. These were covered thinly with hay from the bales
that were regularly delivered for horse-fodder. There was a space of
about two feet between bedsteads, and under them we kept our saddles
and saddlecloths.

Our floor was of earth, with a few flour-barrel staves and cracker-box
sides laid down for rugs. We had each an easy-chair in the form of a
cracker-box, besides a stout soap-box for guests. Our carbines and
sabres hung crossed on pegs over the mantel-piece, above our Bibles
and the precious daguerreotypes of the dear folks at home. When we
happened to have enough wood for a bright fire, we felt much snugger
than you might suppose.

Before ever that dark November began, Charley had been suffering from
one of those wasting diseases that so often clung to and carried off
the strongest men of both armies. Sharing the soldiers' inveterate
prejudice against hospitals attended by young doctors, who, the men
believed, were addicted to much surgery for the sake of practice, my
poor "buddy" strove to do his regular duties. He paraded with the sick
before the regimental doctor as seldom as possible. He was favored by
the sergeants and helped in every way by the men, and so continued to
stay with the company at that wet season when drill and parades were
impracticable.

The idea of a Thanksgiving dinner for half a million men by sea and
land fascinated Charley's imagination, and cheered him mightily. But I
could not see that his strength increased, as he often alleged.

"Ned, you bet I'll be on hand when them turkeys are served out," he
would say. "You won't need to carry my Thanksgiving dinner up from
Brownie's. Say, ain't it bully for the folks at home to be giving us a
Thanksgiving like this? Turkeys, sausages, mince-pies! They say
there's going to be apples and celery for all hands!"

"S'pose you'll be able to eat, Charley?"

"Able! Of course I'll be able! I'll be just as spry as you be on
Thanksgiving. See if I don't carry my own turkey all right. Yes, by
gum, if it weighs twenty pounds!