I never took a drop of
liquor when on duty during the entire of my army service, yet I am
confident that there were times when a reasonable amount of stimulant
was a good thing. Indeed, there were times when a man was a fool if he
did not take it, assuming that he could get it. Coffee was, however, a
very good substitute, and to the credit of the government be it said the
coffee issued to the Union troops was almost invariably of excellent
quality. They always had it and plenty of it. Such a solace as it was!
There was nothing like it. On the march, when there was a temporary
halt, a thousand fires would quickly blaze alongside the weary column,
and a thousand tin cups would soon be steaming with the fragrant and
delicious beverage. Veterans could build a fire and make a cup of
coffee almost as quickly, and under as discouraging environments, as the
traditional Irishman can light his pipe. It seemed to be done by magic,
and there was no time and no place where the cup of coffee was not
welcome and appreciated.

There is a song, much affected by members of the Grand Army of the
Republic. It is styled "The Army Bean." I could never quite make out
whether it was not intended as a burlesque. There may be enough of
sentiment attached to the army bean to entitle it to the honor of being
immortalized in song, but to me it was an abomination, less poetic in
name and association than the proverbial "sow-belly" bacon, so dear to
the heart of the soldier.

Why does not some poet, filled with the divine afflatus, sing the praise
of the army tin cup and its precious contents--the fragrant coffee of
the camp, and march, and bivouac? Ambrosial nectar fit for the gods. The
everyday and grateful beverage of heroes. Here is a theme for some
modern Horace, as inspiring as the fruity and fragrant wine of which his
ancient namesake so eloquently sang. I doubt if the red wine of the
Horatian odes was more exhilarating to the Roman legionary than the
aroma from his tin cup to the soldier of the Union.

Oh, brimming, steaming, fragrant cup! Never-failing friend of the
volunteer! His solace in fatigue, and his strength in battle. To thee, I
sing.

To resume the story at the point at which this digression left it: On
the day following the night tour of picket duty, after having ridden
from one o'clock in the morning till after eight o'clock in the evening,
and the march not yet ended, I became so famished that a piece of raw
fat pork was de