s rarely the case that
any "trace" of sugar was found, but they filled up a hungry man
wonderfully.

Men of sense, and there were many such in the ranks, were necessarily
desirous of knowing where or how far they were to march, and suffered
greatly from a feeling of helpless ignorance of where they were and
whither bound--whether to battle or camp. Frequently, when anticipating
the quiet and rest of an ideal camp, they were thrown, weary and
exhausted, into the face of a waiting enemy, and at times, after
anticipating a sharp fight, having formed line of battle and braced
themselves for the coming danger, suffered all the apprehension and got
themselves in good fighting trim, they were marched off in the driest
and prosiest sort of style and ordered into camp, where, in all
probability, they had to "wait for the wagon," and for the bread and
meat therein, until the proverb, "Patient waiting is no loss," lost all
its force and beauty.

Occasionally, when the column extended for a mile or more, and the road
was one dense moving mass of men, a cheer would be heard away
ahead,--increasing in volume as it approached, until there was one
universal shout. Then some favorite general officer, dashing by,
followed by his staff, would explain the cause. At other times, the same
cheering and enthusiasm would result from the passage down the column of
some obscure and despised officer, who knew it was all a joke, and
looked mean and sheepish accordingly. But no _man_ could produce more
prolonged or hearty cheers than the "old hare" which jumped the fence
and invited the column to a chase; and often it was said, when the
rolling shout arose: "There goes old General Lee or a Molly Cotton
Tail!"

The men would help each other when in real distress, but their delight
was to torment any one who was unfortunate in a ridiculous way. If, for
instance, a piece of artillery was fast in the mud, the infantry and
cavalry passing around the obstruction would rack their brains for words
and phrases applicable to the situation, and most calculated to worry
the cannoniers, who, waist deep in the mud, were tugging at the wheels.

Brass bands, at first quite numerous and good, became very rare and
their music very poor in the latter years of the war. It was a fine
thing to see the fellows trying to keep the music going as they waded
through the mud. But poor as the music was, it helped the footsore and
weary to make another mile, and encouraged