denture in the
ranges of Cumberland mountains. The scene was grand. But grand scenery
had but little attraction for a hungry soldier. Surely we will get
rations at Cumberland Gap. Toil on up the hill, and when half way up
the hill, "Halt!"--march back down to the foot of the hill to defend the
cavalry. I was hungry. A cavalryman was passing our regiment with a
pile of scorched dough on the pummel of his saddle. Says I, "Halt!
I am going to have a pattock of that bread." "Don't give it to him!
don't give it to him!" was yelled out from all sides. I cocked my gun
and was about to raise it to my shoulder, when he handed me over a
pattock of scorched dough, and every fellow in Company H made a grab
for it, and I only got about two or three mouthfuls. About dark a wild
heifer ran by our regiment, and I pulled down on her. We killed and
skinned her, and I cut off about five pounds of hindquarter. In three
minutes there was no sign of that beef left to tell the tale. We ate
that beef raw and without salt.

Only eight miles now to Cumberland Gap, and we will get rations now.
But we didn't. We descended the mountain on the southern side. No
rations yet.

Well, says I, this won't do me. I am going to hunt something to eat,
Bragg or no Bragg. I turned off the road and struck out through the
country, but had gone but a short distance before I came across a group
of soldiers clambering over something. It was Tom Tuck with a barrel of
sorghum that he had captured from a good Union man. He was selling it
out at five dollars a quart. I paid my five dollars, and by pushing and
scrouging I finally got my quart. I sat down and drank it; it was bully;
it was not so good; it was not worth a cent; I was sick, and have never
loved sorghum since.

Along the route it was nothing but tramp, tramp, tramp, and no sound or
noise but the same inevitable, monotonous tramp, tramp, tramp, up hill
and down hill, through long and dusty lanes, weary, wornout and hungry.
No cheerful warble of a merry songster would ever greet our ears.
It was always tramp, tramp, tramp. You might, every now and then,
hear the occasional words, "close up;" but outside of that, it was but
the same tramp, tramp, tramp. I have seen soldiers fast asleep, and no
doubt dreaming of home and loved ones there, as they staggered along in
their places in the ranks. I know that on many a weary night's march I
have slept, and slept soundly, while marching alon