Our camp was in woods. The ground was somewhat flat and wet, but with good facilities for draining. A deep ditch was dug around the camp on three sides. We had plenty of timber near the camp for building tents. The tents built by the soldiers for Winter-quarters were generally about nine feet by seven, built of logs, five feet high. A ridge pole was fastened up at the proper height, over which four shelter tents, buttoned together, were stretched and brought down to the top log on either side, and securely fastened. This formed the roof. The gable ends were closed with pieces of shelter-tent, boards, or some substitute.

A door about three feet high was left in the side next the company street. A chimney, with fire-place, was made at one end, carried up a foot above the roof. It was built of clay and sticks. Usually the tents were uniform in this respect, the chimney of each at the same side of the tent. Two beds or bunks, one above the other, were made of poles covered with a layer of leafy twigs, if possible. On these were laid wool blankets, rubber blankets, extra clothing, etc., making a very comfortable bed. Cracker boxes furnished material for door, seats, and table. The chinks between the logs were closed with clay mortar. The Winter-quarters of a regiment was simply a neat, cleanly village of small log houses, with this peculiarity, that only one row of houses faced on a street.

A military execution took place not long after our return from the Welden raid. A man had deserted to the enemy from a Maryland regiment, was captured, tried, and sentenced to be hung. The troops were ordered out to witness the execution. A hollow square was formed around the scaffold, and in due time the doomed man was led forth, accompanied by a guard, provost-marshal, and chaplain. The prisoner promptly ascended the scaffold, the sentence was read, and prayer was offered by the chaplain. The rope was placed about his neck, and an attempt was made to draw the cap over his head. It was found that the cap should have been put on first, and they loosed the rope to change it. At this point the trap-door gave way, and precipitated them all to the ground. The straps with which the prisoner's knees had been bound were now loosed, so that he could again ascend the scaffold. He sat on the steps while repairs were made. When all was ready he took his place on the trap-door, first testing it with his weight, to see whether it might again give way prematurely. The cap was now drawn over his head, the noose adjusted, and the trap sprung. After he had hung for some time, we marched back to camp.

Our stay at this camp was very pleasant. The location was supposed to be unhealthy, and they issued whisky and quinine to the men for a while. This did more harm than good.

My tent-mates were George Dunn, Joe Bovard, and Andy Shank. Joe Bovard had been in the service from the beginning of the war. He was over six feet in height, a good-natured, manly fellow. George Dunn extended upward to an altitude of at least six feet and a half, besides running along the ground an extraordinary distance before being started in a vertical direction. Our tent was larger than the ordinary, ten by twelve feet, well daubed and comfortable.

One day Jim M'Guire solicited "the hospitality of our tent for the purpose of entertaining some friends." This meant that they wanted to have a high old time, and our tent would be very convenient for that purpose because of its size. Early next morning the festivities began. Commissary whisky was provided in abundance. "Sport" (William Harris) furnished music for the occasion, which he extracted from an old fiddle procured from some unexplainable source. The ball opened with a good pull all around from the canteen. Ordinary forms of entertainment and social enjoyment soon became stale and they concluded to try the mazy dance. Our tent was floored with puncheons, and the racket which they kicked up was something marvelous. Occasionally I looked in to see how the thing was progressing. "Sport" was perched upon the upper bunk, his chin on the fiddle, his tongue protruding from his mouth, and wiggling to and fro in time to the music, while on his face was a look of solemn intensity, as if his life depended on his efforts. The dances were necessarily limited to "French Fours," but these were rendered with great animation and in the latest style of art. As George Dunn would execute some of the fancy flourishes with which their figures were profusely ornamented, his head would bob against the canvas roof. This was suggestive. Procuring a stick of proper size, I crossed over to the rear street, and stood back of the tent watching my opportunity. Presently Dunn's head came bobbing against the canvas, and I brought the stick down on it with a good, sharp crack. The effect was all that could be desired. There came an unearthly bellow, accompanied, I grieve to say, with many exclamations suggestive of the future prospects of the culprit who had cracked the head of the festive dancer. Out they poured through the little door in hot haste to chastise the offender; but he was nowhere to be found. Failing in their search, they returned and resumed their exercises.

Although the day was quite mild and pleasant, there was some fire in the tent, and a thin column of smoke rose lazily from the chimney top. Thinking to add still further the spice of variety to the occasion, I took a cast-off garment and spread it over the top of the chimney, and awaited events.

Meantime within, the dance waxed warm again. The fiddle shrieked, the government stogies thundered upon the puncheon floor; but soon it was evident that all things were not as they had been from the beginning. Confusion first fell upon the fiddler. His dulcet notes, as they whirled through their lofty flight, reeled, and staggered, and fell, to give place to anathemas, steady and well sustained. Smoke filled the tent, and came creeping out through every crevice. They rose up as one man and cursed the chimney with great vehemence. They came scrambling out of the door, wiping their weeping eyes. A brief investigation revealed the cause of their discomfiture. In dislodging the offending garment from the chimney they nearly wrecked that ornamental structure. As soon as Shank saw what was the matter, he at once announced that "that —— —— had done it. He had played that trick on him once before, when he was getting dinner." From this and other remarks that were made, I thought it prudent to withhold all further co-operation. Toward evening the entertainment came to a close. This was hastened by unfavorable rumors from regimental headquarters. After carefully reconnoitering the position, I ventured to present myself at the tent. Dunn was deposited on the lower bunk, overcome by the varied duties of the day. The upper bunk had not proved equal to the emergency, and had broken down. The table, seats, and door were broken. The canvas roof was torn loose at one side and hung disconsolately from the ridge-pole. Shank was in the tent; Joe Bovard was sitting on a stump in front, evidently holding a discussion with his stomach. "Sport" was capering around with many sage remarks and comical gesticulations intended to express his sympathy. Just then Shank came out of the tent, and made for him, to chastise him for some offense. "Sport" fled up the street and across a little bridge to the parade-ground. The feet of his pursuer were heavy, and when he came to the bridge he paused, reflected a moment, and deliberately tore it up, and returned with a very satisfied expression of countenance, remarking:

"I've cu-cut off 'is communications off, anyhow."This little episode of camp life seems to reach a very flat conclusion. But the facts leave no alternative. It required about two days' diligent labor to clean up and repair, to say nothing about Dunn's head, stomach, and general constitution. The working of prohibition was well illustrated in the army. If the traffic had been "regulated" as it is throughout a large portion of our country, the effectiveness of the army would have been destroyed within six months. As it was, the officers in charge of the commissary department were prohibited from selling to the privates. They tell us now that there is no use of trying to reduce drunkenness in this way. We cite the army as an illustration of successful prohibition. If men had been inclined to evade the law, they could have obtained liquor as readily as in civil life. If the evil had become manifest, a remedy could have been applied more directly than in civil life. But it was not necessary. If intoxicating liquors are made difficult to obtain, multitudes who would otherwise use them and become drunkards will not take the trouble to procure them. We affirm that this was demonstrated in the Army of the Potomac. There was very little drunkenness. A few would secure whisky, and become intoxicated. Sometimes it was accomplished by forging the name of an officer to an order. In the revel just described one of the men disguised himself in the uniform of an officer, and bought the whisky.

I never knew whisky to do the men any good. It was certainly one of the strangest of follies to issue whisky rations, as was sometimes done on occasions of peculiar exposure. The men who never tasted stimulants had the most endurance, and suffered the least from cold or exposure of any kind. We wonder at the delusions of witchcraft, and can scarcely comprehend how men could so abandon common sense as to give credence to such folly; but the absurdity of the use of alcoholic stimulants is not less puerile. The time will come when it will be told with pitying wonder how men of this day stupidly ignore the ghastly results of the liquor traffic to themselves and others, and with supine meanness bow their necks to the yoke which it fastens upon them. They will believe the most barefaced lies, assent to the shallowest sophisms of the liquor-dealers, and turn a deaf ear to the most evident dictates of common sense, justice, and prudence.

I think it is Thomas Carlyle says: "England has a population of thirty millions, mostly fools." The same comment is fairly applicable to every so-called civilized people in the world. The dealers say, "It is a benefit to trade." The fools echo, "We can not have prosperity in state, county, or town without the dram-shops." The brewers and distillers say, "It enhances the value of property and products of all kinds." The fools answer, with idiotic promptness and docility, "Yes, we must continue this ulcerous cancer upon the body politic—this unclean, pestilential, gangrenous sore, reeking with disease, vice, poverty, madness, to increase the price of grain." Yes, gentlemen, grain is more profitable deposited in the stomach of your son or your neighbor's son, in the form of whisky, mixed with sundry deadly drugs to give it "tone," than in pork, beef, or mutton, or transformed into the power which sets the whirling spindles of the East in motion, fires up the black caverns of a thousand furnaces, and fills unnumbered homes with joy and plenty. This would do very well if you saw fit to wait till the redeemed drunkard would recover health and manly ambition, and provide his family with sufficient food, clothing, and shelter. But there is a more direct way to turn your produce into money. Transform it into liquor. With this, arm the vampires that suck the people's blood, and turn them loose after him. Post them in every city, village, cross-roads. They will strip him, ruin him, finally kill him; but never mind that. They will make you quick returns in bright dollars. There is, however, one disadvantage incident to this method, which is worthy of consideration. The victims of the dram-seller die, and he must make more drunkards or his business will be gone. He may get his clutches on your boy. He will, if he can. This would be very unpleasant. However, if such a thing should occur, you can drive your son away, banish him from your sight. Then, if you should hear some time that he has ended the struggle with pistol, rope, or poison, thus decreasing the income of yourself and your partner, the dram-seller, you can console yourself with pious reflections on the mysterious ways of Providence.