My man is very intelligent, and as I keep him
in tobacco and greenbacks, I sometimes fancy that Headquarters does not
always get the best out of the raids of these two contrabands."
"I have profited by it, Penhallow. I have personal memories of that
young roast pig, I think your man called it a shoat. Your corps must
have caught it hard these last days. I suppose we are in for something
unusual. You are the only man I know who doesn't grumble. Francis says
it's as natural to the beast called an army as barking is to a dog."
"Of course, the habit is stupid, Blake. I mean the constant growl about
the unavoidable discomforts of war; but this last week has got me near
the growling point. I have had two ague chills and quinine enough to ring
chimes in my head. I haven't had a decent wash for a week, and really war
is a disgustingly dirty business. You don't realize that in history, in
fiction, or in pictures. It's filthy! Oh, you may laugh!"
"Who could help laughing?"
"I can to-day. To-morrow I shall grin at it all, but just now I am half
dead. What with laying corduroys and bridging creeks, to be burnt up next
day, and Chickahominy flies--oh, Lord! If there is nothing else on hand
in the way of copies of maps, some general like Barnard has an insane
curiosity to reconnoitre.
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