now, but that
was the last and only time that I know of bay rum being sold to the
soldiers as a toilet article, or otherwise. Of course, all sutlers and
civilians were prohibited, under severe penalties, from selling
intoxicating liquor to the enlisted men, but the profits were so large
that the temptation was great to occasionally transgress, in some
fashion. But, as a general rule, I think that the orders were
scrupulously obeyed. The risk was too great to do otherwise.

I remember a little personal experience of my own, when once I tried to
buy a drink of whisky. It is not a long story, so it will be told. It
occurred at Devall's Bluff, in October, 1863, when our little furlough
party was there, waiting the arrival of a boat from below on which to
resume our homeward journey. One night in particular was quite cold. We
slept in our blankets on the ground near the bank of the river, built
good fires, and tried to keep as comfortable as possible. But the
morning after this cold night I got up feeling wretched, both mentally
and physically. I was weak from previous illness, my rheumatic pains
were worse, and my condition in general was such as caused me to fear
that I was liable to break down and not be able to go home. It occurred
to me that a drink of whisky might brace me up some, so I started out
to obtain one, if possible. There was a sort of a wharf-boat at the
landing, moored to the bank, a stationary, permanent affair, with a
saloon appurtenant. I went on the boat, walked up to the bar, and
exhibiting a greenback to the bar-keeper, asked him if he would sell me
a drink of whisky. "Can't do it," he answered, "the orders are strict
against selling whisky to soldiers." I began moving away, and at that
instant a big, greasy, colored deck-hand, or laborer of some sort,
black as the ace of spades, crowded by me, brushing against me in the
narrow passage on his way to the bar. "Boss," he called to the keeper,
"want a dram!" A bottle and a glass were pushed towards him, he filled
the glass to the brim, and drank the contents at a gulp. Then he
smacked his big lips, rolled his eyes around, and with a deep breath
exclaimed, "A-h-h! Dat whisky feels des pow'ful good dis cole mawnin'!"
I looked at the darkey in bitterness of heart, and couldn't help
thinking that it was all-fired mean, when a poor little sick soldier
was not allowed to buy a drink of whisky, while a great big buck nigger
roustabout had it handed out to him w