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donkey led by a soldier, and laden with the box, the sack,
the frying-pan, the kettle, and the etceteras which comprise
for a little while before recommencing the tramp of their
the establishment of the officers' mess, to which he is cook;
exhausting march.
and here is a small drummer boy, his red-covered ragged
Our march yesterday continued till the afternoon, and
little legs bestriding at right angles to its broad back the
then we halted for several hours in a beautiful open
huge ox which is to be converted into beef for his regiment,
grassy space opposite Massaponax Church, running into
and which he guides with admirable dexterity by a rope
the woods like a bay into the land. And then the stretch-
fastened to each of its horns, and a switch he carries in his
ing out beneath the trees and wagons, the cooking of coffee
hand. Now there gallops by in hot haste, with some mes-
and munching of hard tack, the search for spring water in
sage from headquarters, a young staff officer, followed by
the forest, the musket shots startling us at first, as we thought
his orderly, proudly conscious that all have to stand aside
them a surprise of the enemy, and turning out to be but the
to
let him pass. Close behind him follows a dilapidated
death-stroke to certain pigs and goslings in a grotesque chase
steed, evidently under the impression that its broken-
after them for fresh food, the hurried burial of the blanket-
winded shamble is nothing less than the stately gallop of
ceremented and uncoffined body of the soldier who had died
its former days, and as his accoutrements-amid the wrecks
on the way in one of the ambulances; what was all this
of chickens, leeks, and tobacco leaves-rebound from the
in our little camp-world in the wilderness but a repetition
pommel and back of his riderless saddle against his
of the game of life in the great world ? Starting again be-
flanks, Ifancy I recognize among them the coffee-pot and
tween four and five, p. m., we journeyed on between our
frying-pan, on which my gastronomic destiny has lately
skirmish lines and the noise of cannon seldom out of our ears
hung. Sure enough, I soon recognize a well-known voice
for fifteen minutes at a time, till one o'clock in the morning
behind me-"Stop dat hoss-lorra-gorry ! stop dat dar hoss.'
brought us to a halt, with orders to move again at four, a. m.
A glance round the corner of the wagon now reveals the
Many preferred sleep to food, and flung themselves down on
unsaddled rider, despair on his sable countenance, and his
the ground in their blankets, among the hoofs of the horses
grizzly wool upright with terror. But the frantic charger
and mules. But for those who preferred food first a hun-
is caught, and the bow-legged rider limps up, obsequious
dred camp fires, made of the rails from around the ploughed
explanations of the accident addressed to the military pub-
field in which we were packed, sent up their flames in the
lic at large, mingling with objurgatory remarks to the
twinkling of an eye ; and the mules welcomed with dis-
horse, and tugging at the rope bridle; and amid the accla-
cordant melancholy cry, their half rations of grain. The
mations, ironical or otherwise, of his fellow-contrabands, is
next morning at day-break all was ready for the march, but
with much labor hoisted up to his former place in the sad-
there we waited, no one knew why, the fierce rays of the
dle. And so we move on again, between two rows of
sun reflected from the sandy field and almost blinding us,
skirmishers-soldiers in single file, five or six feet between
till past one, p. m. And now here we are, not many miles
each man-in the woods or fields at our side; and under
from the North Anna river, where it is expected the enemy
the shade of every tree or bush, in every angle of the snake
will make a determined stand against the further progress of
fence, or out of it, almost in the middle of the road, lie
the 5th corps. In the wide field to our left, so near that I
groups of weary men, their heads pillowed on their knap-
can almost see their features, a large body of our men, a
sacks or their muskets, many of them asleep, and all resting
division I suppose, is drawn up in line of battle, and what
the day may bring forth God only knows.
Document source description
This item is a compilation of letters, written by Alfred J. Bloor, to several supply correspondents of the U.S. Sanitary Commission while serving in the field.
Page data
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Document data
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"ocrText": "36\n37\ndonkey led by a soldier, and laden with the box, the sack,\nthe frying-pan, the kettle, and the etceteras which comprise\nfor a little while before recommencing the tramp of their\nthe establishment of the officers' mess, to which he is cook;\nexhausting march.\nand here is a small drummer boy, his red-covered ragged\nOur march yesterday continued till the afternoon, and\nlittle legs bestriding at right angles to its broad back the\nthen we halted for several hours in a beautiful open\nhuge ox which is to be converted into beef for his regiment,\ngrassy space opposite Massaponax Church, running into\nand which he guides with admirable dexterity by a rope\nthe woods like a bay into the land. And then the stretch-\nfastened to each of its horns, and a switch he carries in his\ning out beneath the trees and wagons, the cooking of coffee\nhand. Now there gallops by in hot haste, with some mes-\nand munching of hard tack, the search for spring water in\nsage from headquarters, a young staff officer, followed by\nthe forest, the musket shots startling us at first, as we thought\nhis orderly, proudly conscious that all have to stand aside\nthem a surprise of the enemy, and turning out to be but the\nto\nlet him pass. Close behind him follows a dilapidated\ndeath-stroke to certain pigs and goslings in a grotesque chase\nsteed, evidently under the impression that its broken-\nafter them for fresh food, the hurried burial of the blanket-\nwinded shamble is nothing less than the stately gallop of\nceremented and uncoffined body of the soldier who had died\nits former days, and as his accoutrements-amid the wrecks\non the way in one of the ambulances; what was all this\nof chickens, leeks, and tobacco leaves-rebound from the\nin our little camp-world in the wilderness but a repetition\npommel and back of his riderless saddle against his\nof the game of life in the great world ? Starting again be-\nflanks, Ifancy I recognize among them the coffee-pot and\ntween four and five, p. m., we journeyed on between our\nfrying-pan, on which my gastronomic destiny has lately\nskirmish lines and the noise of cannon seldom out of our ears\nhung. Sure enough, I soon recognize a well-known voice\nfor fifteen minutes at a time, till one o'clock in the morning\nbehind me-\"Stop dat hoss-lorra-gorry ! stop dat dar hoss.'\nbrought us to a halt, with orders to move again at four, a. m.\nA glance round the corner of the wagon now reveals the\nMany preferred sleep to food, and flung themselves down on\nunsaddled rider, despair on his sable countenance, and his\nthe ground in their blankets, among the hoofs of the horses\ngrizzly wool upright with terror. But the frantic charger\nand mules. But for those who preferred food first a hun-\nis caught, and the bow-legged rider limps up, obsequious\ndred camp fires, made of the rails from around the ploughed\nexplanations of the accident addressed to the military pub-\nfield in which we were packed, sent up their flames in the\nlic at large, mingling with objurgatory remarks to the\ntwinkling of an eye ; and the mules welcomed with dis-\nhorse, and tugging at the rope bridle; and amid the accla-\ncordant melancholy cry, their half rations of grain. The\nmations, ironical or otherwise, of his fellow-contrabands, is\nnext morning at day-break all was ready for the march, but\nwith much labor hoisted up to his former place in the sad-\nthere we waited, no one knew why, the fierce rays of the\ndle. And so we move on again, between two rows of\nsun reflected from the sandy field and almost blinding us,\nskirmishers-soldiers in single file, five or six feet between\ntill past one, p. m. And now here we are, not many miles\neach man-in the woods or fields at our side; and under\nfrom the North Anna river, where it is expected the enemy\nthe shade of every tree or bush, in every angle of the snake\nwill make a determined stand against the further progress of\nfence, or out of it, almost in the middle of the road, lie\nthe 5th corps. In the wide field to our left, so near that I\ngroups of weary men, their heads pillowed on their knap-\ncan almost see their features, a large body of our men, a\nsacks or their muskets, many of them asleep, and all resting\ndivision I suppose, is drawn up in line of battle, and what\nthe day may bring forth God only knows."
}