to sneak through and get out
into the country, and I proceeded to take advantage of it. It was where
a big tree had fallen across the stream, making a sort of natural
bridge, and I "run the line" there many a time. It was delightful to get
out into the clean, grand old woods, and away from the mud, and filth,
and bad smells of the camp, and my health began to improve. On some of
these rambles, Frank Gates, a corporal of my company, was my companion.
He was my senior a few years, a lively fellow, with a streak of humor in
him, and was good company. One day on one of our jaunts we came to a
little old log house near the foot of a densely timbered ridge. There
was nobody at home save some women and children, and one of the women
was engaged on an old-fashioned churn, churning butter. Mulberries were
ripe, and there was a large tree in the yard fairly black with the ripe
fruit. We asked the women if we could eat some of the berries, and they
gave a cheerful consent. Thereupon Frank and I climbed the tree, and
proceeded to help ourselves. The berries were big, dead ripe, and tasted
mighty good, and we just stuffed ourselves until we could hold no more.
The churning was finished by the time we descended from the tree, and we
asked for some buttermilk. The women gave us a gourd dipper and told us
to help ourselves, which we did, and drank copiously and greedily. We
then resumed our stroll, but before long were seized with most horrible
pains in our stomachs. We laid down on the ground and rolled over and
over in agony. It was a hot day, we had been walking rapidly, and it is
probable that the mulberries and the buttermilk were in a state of
insurrection. But Frank didn't think so. As he rolled over the ground
with his hands on his bulging stomach he exclaimed to me, "Lee, by ----,
I believe them ---- Secesh wimmen have pizened us!" At the time I hardly
knew what to think,--but relief came at last. I will omit the details.
When able to navigate, we started back to camp, almost as weak and
helpless as a brace of sick kittens. After that I steered clear of any
sort of a combination of berries and buttermilk.

Soon after this Frank and I had another adventure outside the picket
lines, but of an amusing nature only. We came to an old log house where,
as was usual at this time and locality, the only occupants were women
and children. The family consisted of the middle-aged mother, a tall,
slab-sided, long legged girl, seemingly sixte