t excited by the way
they were gesticulating. When we came up, we found a barrel, supposed
to be filled with whiskey, had been washed ashore. Some were swearing
by all that was good and bad, that "it was a trick of the d----n
Yankees on the fleet," who had poisoned the whiskey and thrown it
overboard to catch the "Johnny Rebs." The crowd gathered, and with it
the discussion and differences grew. Some swore they would not drink
a drop of it for all the world, while others were shouting, "Open her
up," "get into it," "not so much talking, but more drinking." But who
was "to bell the cat?" Who would drink first? No one seemed to care
for the first drink, but all were willing enough, if somebody else
would just "try it." It was the first and only time I ever saw
whiskey go begging among a lot of soldiers. At last a long, lank,
lantern-jawed son of the "pitch and turpentine State" walked up and
said:

"Burst her open and give me a drink, a man might as well die from a
good fill of whiskey as to camp in this God-forsaken swamp and die of
fever; I've got a chill now."

The barrel was opened. The "tar heel" took a long, a steady, and
strong pull from a tin cup; then holding it to a comrade, he said:
"Go for it, boys, she's all right; no poison thar, and she didn't come
from them thar gun boats either. Yankees ain't such fools as to throw
away truck like that. No, boys, that 'ar liquor just dropped from
Heaven." The battle around the whiskey barrel now raged fast and
furious; spirits flowed without and within; cups, canteens, hats, and
caps were soused in the tempting fluid, and all drank with a relish.
Unfortunately, many had left their canteens in camp, but after getting
a drink they scurried away for that jewel of the soldier, the canteen.
The news of the find spread like contagion, and in a few minutes
hundreds of men were struggling around the barrel of "poison." Where
it came from was never known, but it is supposed to have been dropped
by accident from a Federal man-of-war. As the soldiers said, "All
gifts thankfully received and no questions asked."

General J. Bankhead Magruder was in command of the Peninsula at the
time of our arrival, and had established his lines behind the Warwick
River, a sluggish stream rising near Yorktown and flowing southward
to the James. Along this river light entrenchments had been thrown up.
The river had been dammed in places to overflow the lowlands, and
at these dams redoubts had bee