CAMPAIGNING WITE MAX. 95 



nothing ever came to disturb our quiet, or to 

 mar our repose with the realities of war. We 

 built ourselves houses, we shot game for our 

 tables, we made egg-nog for our evenings, and 

 we were happy. The charm of camp-life — with 

 just enough of occupation and responsibility, and 

 with enough improvement in the troops for a re- 

 ward — made even this wilderness enjoyable. I 

 had the advantage of seniority and command, and 

 the physical comforts that naturally gravitate to- 

 ward a commanding officer did not fail me. 



My house, built with the mouse-colored logs 

 of a Rebel block-house, covered with the roof of 

 the post-office, and floored and ceiled with the 

 smoke-mellowed lining of the Methodist church, 

 was broad and low and snug. Its windows, also 

 taken from the sanctuary in question, were set 

 on their sides, and gave to each of the two rooms 

 wide, low-browed outlooks into the woods and 

 over the drill-ground, that would have made 

 worse quarters agreeable. The bricks of an aban- 

 doned domestic fireside built a spacious fireplace 

 across an angle of each of the rooms, and the clay 



