proportional
share for hire; but as the stringency of the Subsistence Department
began to grow oppressive, as the war wore on, many of these negroes
were sent home. There was no provision made by the department for his
keep, except among the officers of the higher grade; so the mess had
to share their rations with the cook, or depend upon his ability as a
"forager." In the later years of the war the country occupied by the
armies became so devastated that little was left for the "forager."
Among the officers, it was different. They were allowed two rations
(only in times of scarcity they had to take the privates' fare). This
they were required to pay for at pay day, and hence could afford to
keep a servant. Be it said to the credit of the soldiers of the South,
and to their servants as well, that during my four years and more of
service I never heard of, even during times of the greatest scarcity,
a mess denying the cook an equal share of the scanty supply, or a
servant ever found stealing a soldier's rations. There was a mutual
feeling of kindness and honesty between the two. If all the noble,
generous and loyal acts of the negroes of the army could be recorded,
it would fill no insignificant volume.

There was as much cast among the negroes, in fact more, as among the
soldiers. In times of peace and at home, the negro based his claims
of cast upon the wealth of his master. But in the army, rank of his
master overshadowed wealth. The servant of a Brigadier felt royal as
compared to that of a Colonel, and the servant of a Colonel, or even
a Major, was far ahead, in superiority and importance, to those
belonging to the privates and line officers. The negro is naturally
a hero worshiper. He gloried in his master's fame, and while it might
often be different, in point of facts, still to the negro his master
was "the bravest of the brave."

As great "foragers" as they were, they never ventured far in front
while on the advance, nor lingered too dangerously in the rear on the
retreat. They hated the "Yankee" and had a fear of capture. One day
while we were camped near Charlestown an officer's cook wandered too
far away in the wrong direction and ran up on the Federal pickets.
Jack had captured some old cast-off clothes, some garden greens and an
old dominicker rooster. Not having the remotest idea of the topography
of the country, he very naturally walked into the enemy's pickets.
He was halted, brought in and questioned.