tilleryman tarrying for a day only in a camp had only time to eat
and do his work. Roll-call, drill, watering the horses, greasing
caissons and gun-carriages; cleaning, repairing, and greasing harness;
cleaning the chests of the limbers and caissons; storing and arranging
ammunition; and many little duties, filled the day. In the midst of a
campaign, comfortable arrangements for staying were hardly completed by
the time the bugle sounded the assembly and orders to move were given.
But however short the stay might be, the departure always partook of the
nature of a move from home. More especially was this true in the case of
the sick man, whose weary body was finding needed rest in the camp; and
peculiarly true of the man who had fed at the table of a hospitable
neighbor, and for a day, perhaps, enjoyed the society of the fair
daughters of the house.

Orders to move were frequently heralded by the presence of the
"courier," a man who rarely knew a word of the orders he had brought;
who was always besieged with innumerable questions, always tried to
appear to know more than his position allowed him to disclose, and who
never ceased to be an object of interest to every camp he entered. Many
a gallant fellow rode the country over; many a one led in the thickest
of the fight and died bravely, known only as "my courier."

When the leaves began to fall and the wind to rush in furious frolics
through the woods, the soldier's heart yearned for comfort. Chilling
rains, cutting sleet, drifting snow, muddy roads, all the miseries of
approaching winter, pressed him to ask and repeat the question, "When
will we go into winter quarters?"

After all, the time did come. But first the place was known. The time
was always doubtful. Leisurely and steady movement towards the place
might be called the first "comfort" of winter quarters; and as each
day's march brought the column nearer the appointed camp, the
anticipated pleasures assumed almost the sweetness of present enjoyment.

But at last comes the welcome "Left into park!" and the fence goes down,
the first piece wheels through the gap, the battery is parked, the
horses are turned over to the "horse sergeant," the old guns are snugly
stowed under the tarpaulins, and the winter has commenced. The woods
soon resound with the ring of the axe; trees rush down, crashing and
snapping, to the ground; fires start here and there till the woods are
illuminated, and the brightest, happiest, bu