Campaigns of a Non-Combatant | Page 9

of a grain-field, concealed from public view by a
projecting point of woods. A Sibley tent stood close at hand, where a
soldier in blue overcoat was reading signals through a telescope. I
mistook the tent for the General's, and riding up to the soldier was
requested to stand out of the way. I moved to his rear, but he said curtly
that I was obstructing the light. I then dismounted, and led my horse to
a clump of trees a rod distant.
"Don't hitch there," said the soldier; "you block up the view."
A little ruffled at this manifest discourtesy, I asked the man to denote
some point within a radius of a mile where I would not interfere with
his operations. He said in reply, that it was not his business to denote

hitching-stalls for anybody. I thought, in that case, that I should stay
where I was, and he politely informed me that I might stay and
be--jammed. I found afterward that this individual was troubled with a
kind of insanity peculiar to all headquarters, arising out of an
exaggerated idea of his own importance. I had the pleasure, a few
minutes afterward, of hearing him ordered to feed my horse. A thickset,
gray-haired man sat near by, undergoing the process of shaving by a
very nervous negro. The thickset man was also exercising the privileges
of his rank; but the more he berated his attendant's awkwardness, the
more nervous the other became. I addressed myself mutually to master
and man, in an inquiry as to the precise quarters of the General in
command. The latter pointed to a wall tent contiguous, and was cursed
by the thickset man for not minding his business. The thickset man
remarked substantially, that he didn't know anything about it, and was
at that moment cut by the negro, to my infinite delight. Before the wall
tent in question stood a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman in
shirt-sleeves and slippers, warming his back and hands at a fire. He was
watching, through an aperture in the tent, the movements of a private
who was cleaning his boots. I noticed that he wore a seal ring, and that
he opened and shut his eyes very rapidly. He was, otherwise, a very
respectable and dignified gentleman.
"Is this General M'Call?" said I, a little discomposed. The gentleman
looked abstractedly into my eyes, opening and shutting his own several
times, as if doubtful of his personality, and at last decided that he was
General M'Call.
"What is it?" he said gravely, but without the slightest curiosity.
"I have a letter for you, sir, I believe."
He put the letter behind his back, and went on warming his hands.
Having winked several times again, apparently forgetting all about the
matter, I ventured to add that the letter was merely introductory. He
looked at it, mechanically.
"Who opened it?" he said.

"Letters of introduction are not commonly sealed, General."
"Who are you?" he asked, indifferently.
I told him that the contents of the letter would explain my errand; but
he had, meantime, relapsed into abstractedness, and winked, and
warmed his hands, for at least, five minutes. At the end of that time, he
read the letter very deliberately, and said that he was glad to see me in
camp. He intimated, that if I was not already located, I could be
provided with bed and meals at headquarters. He stated, in relation to
my correspondence, that all letters sent from the Reserve Corps, must,
without any reservations, be submitted to him in person. I was obliged
to promise compliance, but had gloomy forebodings that the General
would occupy a fortnight in the examination of each letter. He invited
me to breakfast, proposed to make me acquainted with his staff, and
was, in all respects, a very grave, prudent, and affable soldier. I may
say, incidentally, that I adopted the device of penning a couple of
gossipy epistles, the length and folly of which, so irritated General
M'Call, that he released me from the penalty of submitting my
compositions for the future.
I took up my permanent abode with quartermaster Kingwalt, a very
prince of old soldiers, who had devoted much of a sturdy life to
promoting the militia interests of the populous county of Chester.
When the war-fever swept down his beautiful valley, and the drum
called the young men from villages and farms, this ancient yeoman and
miller--for he was both--took a musket at the sprightly age of sixty-five,
and joined a Volunteer company. Neither ridicule nor entreaty could
bend his purpose; but the Secretary of War, hearing of the case,
conferred a brigade quartermastership upon him. He threw off the
infirmities of age, stepped as proudly as any youngster, and became,
emphatically, the best quartermaster in the Division.