table without the door of the tent, where a head colonel was posted to
make punch in the sight of all, they within drinking, talking, and
laughing during the whole of the service, to the disturbance and
disaffection of most present. This was not only a bare neglect, but an
open contempt, of the worship of God by the heads of this army. 'Twas
but last Sabbath that General Lyman spent the time of divine service in
the afternoon in his tent, drinking in company with Mr. Gordon, a
regular officer. I have oft heard cursing and swearing in his presence
by some provincial field-officers, but never heard a reproof nor so much
as a check to them come from his mouth, though he never uses such
language himself. Lord, what is man! Truly, the May-game of Fortune!
Lord, make me know my duty, and what I ought to do!"

That night his sleep was broken and his soul troubled by angry voices
under his window, where one Colonel Glasier was berating, in unhallowed
language, the captain of the guard; and here the chaplain's Journal
abruptly ends.[419]

[Footnote 419: I owe to my friend George S. Hale, Esq., the opportunity
of examining the autograph Journal; it has since been printed in the
_Magazine of American History_ for March, 1882.]

A brother minister, bearing no likeness to the worthy Graham, appeared
on the same spot some time after. This was Chaplain William Crawford, of
Worcester, who, having neglected to bring money to the war, suffered
much annoyance, aggravated by what he thought a want of due
consideration for his person and office. His indignation finds vent in a
letter to his townsman, Timothy Paine, member of the General Court: "No
man can reasonably expect that I can with any propriety discharge the
duty of a chaplain when I have nothing either to eat or drink, nor any
conveniency to write a line other than to sit down upon a stump and put
a piece of paper upon my knee. As for Mr. Weld [_another chaplain_], he
is easy and silent whatever treatment he meets with, and I suppose they
thought to find me the same easy and ductile person; but may the wide
yawning earth devour me first! The state of the camp is just such as one
at home would guess it to be,--nothing but a hurry and confusion of vice
and wickedness, with a stygian atmosphere to breathe in."[420] The vice
and wickedness of which he complains appear to have consisted in a
frequent infraction of the standing order against "Curseing and
Swareing," as well as of tha