General?" I ventured to ask. "Push it out until you feel something!"
This was Reynolds.

We continued our march down what I was told was the valley of the
Catochin. November 5 found us near Upperville, where we bivouacked
alongside an old graveyard, our head-quarters being established inside
the enclosure, to get the protection of its stone wall from the cold
wind that was blowing. The temperature had fallen during the past
twenty-four hours, so that it was now decidedly chilly--good for
marching, but cold in bivouac. My notes say that I was chilled through
until my teeth chattered; that I slept in the hollow made by a sunken
grave to get warm; that my dreams were not disturbed by any
unsubstantial hobgoblins of the defunct member of an F. F. V. whose
remains might have been resting below me. The letters F. F. V. meant
much in those war days. They stood for "First Family of Virginia," an
expression much in use by her slave-proud aristocracy, and, of course,
much satirized by us of the North. On this day we passed several very
handsome mansions with their slave contingents. One old "daddy"
volunteered the information that his "Mars was a pow'ful secesh;" that
he had three sons in the rebel army. My diary notes with indignation
that these rich plantations were carefully guarded by our cavalry to
prevent our soldiers entering to get water as they passed. They would
doubtless have helped themselves to other things as well, especially
things eatable, but the owners were rebels and deserved to have their
property taken, we all felt.

The orders against marauding were punctuated by a striking example this
day. The cavalry orderly of the general commanding our division, riding
back to head-quarters after delivering a batch of orders, among them
another on this hated subject, carried a pair of handsome turkeys
strapped to his saddle. It is safe to say that entire flock came into
our camp that night, and turkey was served at breakfast to some of the
rank and file as well as to the general. Verily, "consistency thou art a
jewel."

From Upperville we moved by easy marching down to Warrenton. The weather
had grown much colder. On the 8th of November there was a fall of rain,
succeeded by snow, and we marched in a very disagreeable slush. The
bivouac in this snow was most trying. The result for myself was a severe
attack of fever and ague. I had been much reduced in flesh from the
fatigue and nervous strain of the strenuous life