of the mountain the
Division halted to obtain the benefits of a spring fifty yards from the
road. A steep path led to it, and one by one the men filed down to fill
their canteens. The delay was terribly tedious, and entirely
unnecessary, as five minutes' inquiry among the men, many of whom were
familiar with the road, would have informed the Commanding General of
abundance of excellent water, a short mile beyond, and close by the
wayside. Pride, which prevails to an unwarranted extent among too many
regular officers, is frequently the cause of much vexation. Inquiry and
exertion to lighten the labors of our brave volunteers would, with every
earnest officer, be unceasing. A short distance further a halt was
ordered for coffee, that "sublime beverage of Mocha," indispensable in
camp or in the field. Strange to say, our brigadier, who habitually
confined himself closely to cold water, was one of the most particular
of officers in ordering halts for coffee.

South Mountain was crossed, but in the dusky light little could be seen
of the devastation caused by the late battle. "Yonder," said a wounded
man who chanced to be passing, "our gallant General lost his life." The
brave, accomplished Reno! How dearly our national integrity is
maintained! Brave spirit, in your life you thought it well worth the
cost; your death can never be considered a vain sacrifice!

Boonsboro' was entered about day-break. The road to Sharpsburg was here
taken, and at 7-1/2 A. M., having marched during that night twenty-eight
miles, the Division stood at arms near the battle-ground along a road
crowded with ammunition trains. Inquiry was made as to the ammunition,
and the number of rounds for each man ordered to be increased
immediately from forty to sixty.

"Pioneer! hand me that axe," said our brigadier, dismounting.
"Sergeant," addressing the sergeant of the ammunition guard, "hand out
those boxes." "The Division General has given strict orders, if you
please, General, that the boxes must pass regularly through the hands of
the ordnance officer," said the sergeant, saluting. "I am _acting_
ordnance officer; hand out the boxes!" was the command, that from its
tone and manner brooked no delay. A box was at his feet. In an instant a
clever blow from the muscular arm of the hero of Winchester laid it
open. Another and another, until the orderly sergeant had given the
required number of rounds to every man in the brigade. "Attention!
Column! Should