On Picket Duty, and Other Tales

Picket Duty and Other Tales, by
Louisa May Alcott

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Title: On Picket Duty and Other Tales
Author: Louisa May Alcott

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DUTY ***

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ON PICKET DUTY, AND OTHER TALES.
BY L. M. ALCOTT.
Boston: NEW YORK:
1864

ON PICKET DUTY.
WHAT air you thinkin' of, Phil?
"My wife, Dick."
"So was I! Aint it odd how fellers fall to thinkin' of thar little women,
when they get a quiet spell like this?"

"Fortunate for us that we do get it, and have such gentle bosom guests
to keep us brave and honest through the trials and temptations of a life
like ours."
October moonlight shone clearly on the solitary tree, draped with gray
moss, scarred by lightning and warped by wind, looking like a
venerable warrior, whose long campaign was nearly done; and
underneath was posted the guard of four. Behind them twinkled many
camp-fires on a distant plain, before them wound a road ploughed by
the passage of an army, strewn with the relics of a rout. On the right, a
sluggish river glided, like a serpent, stealthy, sinuous, and dark, into a
seemingly impervious jungle; on the left, a Southern swamp filled the
air with malarial damps, swarms of noisome life, and discordant sounds
that robbed the hour of its repose. The men were friends as well as
comrades, for though gathered from the four quarters of the Union, and
dissimilar in education, character, and tastes, the same spirit animated
all; the routine of camp life threw them much together, and mutual
esteem soon grew into a bond of mutual good fellowship.
Thorn was a Massachusetts volunteer; a man who seemed too early old,
too early embittered by some cross, for though grim of countenance,
rough of speech, cold of manner, a keen observer would have soon
discovered traces of a deeper, warmer nature hidden, behind the
repellent front he turned upon the world. A true New Englander,
thoughtful, acute, reticent, and opinionated; yet earnest withal,
intensely patriotic, and often humorous, despite a touch of Puritan
austerity.
Phil, the "romantic chap," as he was called, looked his character to the
life. Slender, swarthy, melancholy eyed, and darkly bearded; with
feminine features, mellow voice and, alternately languid or vivacious
manners. A child of the South in nature as in aspect, ardent, impressible,
and proud; fitfully aspiring and despairing; without the native energy
which moulds character and ennobles life. Months of discipline and
devotion had done much for him, and some deep experience was fast
ripening the youth into a man.
Flint, the long-limbed lumberman, from the wilds of Maine, was a

conscript who, when government demanded his money or his life,
calculated the cost, and decided that the cash would be a dead loss and
the claim might be repeated, whereas the conscript would get both pay
and plunder out of government, while taking excellent care that
government got precious little out of him. A shrewd, slow-spoken,
self-reliant specimen, was Flint; yet something of the fresh flavor of the
backwoods lingered in him still, as if Nature were loath to give him up,
and left the mark of her motherly hand upon him, as she leaves it in a
dry, pale lichen, on the bosom of the roughest stone.
Dick "hailed" from Illinois, and was a comely young fellow, full of
dash and daring; rough and rowdy, generous and jolly, overflowing
with spirits and