St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1886-12-23

marching on. On the night before
Christmas, 1862, l was a detected
young patriot, wishing L hadn't done
it, shivering in the open weather a
mile back of the RappahannOck, on
the reserve picket, and exposed to
wet snow-storm. There was not
stick of wood within five miles of US;
all cut down, even the roots of trees
dug up and burned. We lay down on
our rubber blankets, pulled our wool
en- blankets over us, spooned 1T as
close as we could get, to steal warmth
from our comrades, and tried not to
cry.
Next morning the snow lay heavy
and deep, and the men, when walked
and looked about me, reminded me OF
church graveyard in winter. The
snow covered us all and my comrades
seemed as if a small cemetery-just
like a graveyard and its mounds.
"Fall in for picket duty There, come,
Moore, McManus, Paxton, Perrine,
Pollock; fall in ~ We fell in, of
course. No breakfast; chilled to the
marrow; snow a foot deep. We tight
ened our belts on our empty stOmachs,
seized our rifles, and marched to the
river to take our six hours on duty.
1t was Christmas day, 1862. "And
so this is war;" my old me said to
himself, while he paced in the wet
snow his two hours on the rivers
brink. "And am out here to shoot
that lean, lank, coughing, cadaverous-
| looking butternut fellow over the riv-
er. So this is war; this is being
soldier; this is the genuine article
this is HI. Greeley's 'On to Richmond
Well. | wish he were only here i'll my
place running to keep warm; pound
| ing his arms and breast to make the
chilled blood circulate. So this is war,
tramping up and down this river my
| fifty Yards with wet feet, empty stOm-
ach, swollen nOse.'
Alas when lying under the trees in
the college campus last June, war
meant to me martial music gorgeous
brigadiers in blue and gold tall young
men in line, shining in brass. War
meant to me tumultuOus memories of
Bunker Hill. Caesars Tenth Legion,
the charge of the Six Hundred-any
thing bnt this. Pshaw | wish l were
home. Let me see. Home. Gods
country. A tear 9-yes, it is tear.
What are they doing at home This
is Christmas day, 1862. Home ? Well,
stockings on the wall, candy, turkey,
fun, merry Christmas, and the face of
the girl | left behind. Another tear
Yes, 1 couldn't help it; was only
eighteen, and there was such con-
trast between Christmas, 1862, on the
RappahannOck, and other Christmases.
Yes, there was girl, tOO,-such sweet
eyes; such long lashes; such low
tender voice "COme, move quicker
Who goes there 2" Shift the rifle from
one aching shoulder to the other.
"Hello, Johnny, what are you up
to 2" The river was narrow, but deep
and swift. 1t was q wet cold, not a
freezing cold. There was no ice-tOO
swift for that.
"Hello, Johnny, what you coughing
so for?"
"Yank, with no OvercOat, shoes full
of holes, nothing to eat but parched
corn and tobacco, and with this dern
ed Yankee snow foot deep, there is
nothin' left, nothin' but to get up a
cough by way of prOtestin' against this
Internal ill treatment of the body. We
uns, Yank, all have cough over here,
and there's no saying which will run
us to hole first, the cough or your bull
lets.n
The snow still fell the keen wind,
raw and fierce, cut to the bone. 1t
was Gods worst weather, in Gods
forlornest, bleakest spot of ground,
that Christmas day Of '62 on the Rap
pahannOck, half-mile below the town
of Fredericksburg. But come, pick up
your PROSTATE pluck, you shivering
private. Surely there is enough damp
ness around without adding to 1T your
tears.
"Let's laugh, boys"
"HellO, Johnny"
'!HellO, yourself, Yank."
"Merry Christmas, Johnny"
"Same to you, Yank."
"Say. johnny, got anything to
trade ?"
"Parched corn and tobaccO-the size
of our Christmas, Yank."
"All right; you shall have some of
our coffee and sugar and pork. Boys,
find the boats"
Such boats see the children sail
ing them on the small lakes in our
Central Park Some Yankee, desper-
ately hungry for tobacco, invented
them for trading with the JOhnnies.
They were hid away under the banks
of the river for successive relays of
pickets.
We got out the boats. An old hand
kerchief answered for a sail. We load
ed them with coffee, sugar, pork, and
set the sail and watched them slowly
creep to the other shore. Aud the
JOhnnies ? To see them crowd the
bank, and push and scramble to be
first to seize the boats, going into the
water and stretching out their long
arms Then when they pulled the
boots ashore, and stood in group
over the cargo, and to hear their. ex
carnations: "Hurrah for hOg" "Say,
that's not roasted rye, but genuine cOf-
fee. Smell it, you uns." "And sugar,
too" Then they divided the cOnsign-
ment. They laughed and shouted,
''Reckon youuns been good to we-uns
this Christmas day, Yanks." Then
they put parched corn, tobacco, ripe
persimmons, into the boats, and sent
them back to us. And we chewed the
parched corn, smoked real Virginia
leaf, ate persimmOns, which if they
weren't very filling, at least contracted
our stOmachs to the size of our Christ
mas dinner. And so the day passed.
We shouted "Merry Christmas, john
n.y." They shouted, "Same to You,
Yank." And we forgot the biting
wind, the chilling cold we forgot those
men over there were Onr enemies,
whom it might be our duty to shoot
before evening.
We had bridged the river-spanned
the bloody chasm. We were brothers,
not foes, waving salutations of good
will in the name of the babe of Beth
lehem, on Christmas day, in 80. At
the very front of the opposing armies,
the Christ child struck truce for us
hrnka down the wall of nartitinn he