.

When our forces captured Little Rock in September, 1863, we obtained
possession, among other plunder, of quite a quantity of Confederate
commissary stores. Among these was a copious supply of "jerked beef."
It consisted of narrow, thin strips of beef, which had been dried on
scaffolds in the sun, and it is no exaggeration to say that it was
almost as hard and dry as a cottonwood chip. Our manner of eating it
was simply to cut off a chunk about as big as one of our elongated
musket balls, and proceed to "chaw." It was rather a comical sight to
see us in our cabins of a cold winter night, sitting by the fire, and
all solemnly "chawing" away, in profound silence, on the Johnnies'
jerked beef. But, if sufficiently masticated, it was nutritious and
healthful, and we all liked it. I often thought it would have been a
good thing if the government had made this kind of beef a permanent and
regular addition to our rations. As long as kept in the dry, it would
apparently keep indefinitely, and a piece big enough to last a soldier
two or three days would take up but little space in a haversack.

Passing from the topic of army rations, I will now take leave to say
here, with sincerity and emphasis, that the best school to fit me for
the practical affairs of life that I ever attended was in the old 61st
Illinois during the Civil War. It would be too long a story to
undertake to tell all the benefits derived from that experience, but a
few will be alluded to. In the first place, when I was a boy at home, I
was, to some extent, a "spoiled child." I was exceedingly particular
and "finicky" about my food. Fat meat I abhorred, and wouldn't touch
it, and on the other hand, when we had chicken to eat, the gizzard was
claimed by me as my sole and exclusive tid-bit, and "Leander" always
got it. Let it be known that in the regiment those habits were gotten
over so soon that I was astonished myself. The army in time of war is
no place for a "sissy-boy;" it will make a man of him quicker, in my
opinion, than any other sort of experience he could undergo. And
suffice it to say, on the food question, that my life as a soldier
forever cured me of being fastidious or fault-finding about what I had
to eat. I have gone hungry too many times to give way to such weakness
when sitting down in a comfortable room to a table provided with plenty
that was good enough for any reasonable man. I have no patience with a
person who is addicted to complaining