MARCHING THROUGH GEORGIA AND THE CAROLINAS.

677

THE ROAD FROM MCPHERSON VILEE. SHERMAN AND HIS STAFF PASSING THROUGH WATER AND JURE.

FROM A SKETCH MADE AT THE TIME.

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coffee. The necessary destruction of property wasquickly accomplished, and on we went. A milefrom the Lumber River the country, alreadyflooded ankle-deep, was rendered still more inhos-pitable by a steady down-pour of rain. The bridgeshad been partly destroyed by the enemy, andpartly swept away by the flood. An attempt tocarry heavy army wagons and artillery acrossthis dreary lake might have seemed rather fool-hardy, but we went to work without loss of time.The engineers were promptly floated out to theriver, to direct the rebuilding of bridges, and thewoods all along the line of each column soon rangwith the noise of axes. Trees quickly became logs,and were brought to the submerged roadway. Nomatter if logs disappeared in the floating mud;thousands more were coming from all sides. So,layer upon layer, the work went bravely on. Soonthe artillery and wagons were jolting over ourwooden causeway.

As my regiment was the rear-guard for the day,we had various offices to perform for the train, andit was midnight before we saw the last wagon overthe bridge by the light of our pine torches. Itseemed as if that last wagon was never to be gotover. It came bouncing and bumping along, itssix mules smoking and blowing in the black,misty air. The teamster, mounted on one of thewheelers, guided his team with a single rein andaddressed each mule by name, reminding the ani-mal of his faults, and accusing him of having,among other peculiarities, “a black militaryheart.” Every sentence of his oath-adorned rhet-oric was punctuated with a dexterous whip-lash.

At last, drenched to the skin and covered withmud, I took my position on the bridge, seated in achair which one of my men had presented to me,and waited for the command to “ close op.”

As we passed the wagon camp, there was thedeafening, indescribable chorus of mules and team-sters, besides the hoarse shouting of quartermas-ters and wagonmasters plunging about on horse-back through the mud, to direct the arriving teamsinto their places. But it all died away in the dis-tance as we marched on to find the oozy resting-place of the brigade. The army had been inbivouac some hours, and countless camp-firesformed a vast belt of fire that spread out into theblack night.

As we advanced into the wild pine regions ofNorth Carolina the natives seemed wonderfullyimpressed at seeing every road filled with march-ing troops, artillery, and wagon trains. Theylooked destitute enough as they stood in blankamazement gazing upon the “Yanks” marchingby. The scene before us was very striking; theresin pits were on fire, and great columns of blacksmoke rose high into the air, spreading and min-gling together in gray clouds, and suggesting theroof and pillars of a vast temple. All traces ofhabitation were left behind, as we marched intothat grand forest with its beautiful carpet of pine-needles. The straight trunks of the pine-tree shotup to a great height, and then spread out into agreen roof, which kept us in perpetual shade. Asnight came on, we found that the resinous sap inthe cavities cut in the trees to receive it, hadbeen lighted by “bummers” in our advance.