While
the soldier who was doing the weighing on one end had his back turned, I
managed to fill my haversack from a full barrel of coffee that stood at
the end of the tent. I had two haversacks for that purpose, for I went
there with that intent; but I came away with only one filled. I could not
get a chance for the other; it was on the wrong side. Finally the rations
were all aboard, and we started back. The boys repeated the operation of
throwing me into the wagon again, and there was my opportunity. I would
fill my other haversack from the bags in the wagon; that's what the boys
expected I would do, and I did from the first bag I could get into. Each
company had its own bag.

When we arrived at the breastworks my company crowded around me for
plunder. I divided it up, and was looked upon as quite a hero, but when
the rations were issued it was found our company's bag was short about
thirty rations of sugar, but no one said a word. It was surmised that it
got spilled. Day after day our regiment lay there and our army did not
seem to gain anything. I was becoming disgusted and discouraged.

[Illustration: _My First Day in Front of Petersburg._]

One night the Johnnies made a charge on us. That was the only time I ever
fired a gun in the whole war, and I honestly believe I killed a dozen men,
for immediately after they stopped firing. It was only a few moments,
however; on they came, only to be repulsed. They kept that up nearly all
night, and I served my country by standing down in the trench, loading a
gun and passing it up to my brother to fire. I did this all night, but I
didn't see any less rebels in the morning. Our next order was to fall
back, under cover of darkness. We fell back about a mile and halted for
some reason, I thought to get breakfast. Anyway I built a little fire
behind a stone wall, put my coffee-pot on and the remnants of a pot of
beans. They were getting nice and hot; my brother and I stood waiting,
smacking our lips in the anticipation of a feast, when whizz came one of
those nasty little "Cohorn" mortor shells and it dropped right into our
coffee and beans. Then the bugle sounded, "fall in," and we started with
downcast hearts and empty stomachs, and a longing good-bye to the debris
of beans and coffee. It was a tiresome march. Of course, we didn't know
where we were going, and that made it all the longer.

We eventually brought up at White-House landing on the York river, where
we were