"We shall take the greatest pleasure in killing them all."

Monday, March 18, 1864,  near Boisseau House

The roads are drying at least somewhat. The snow has entirely disappeared but the frequent rains are abating by a slight amount. We can hear more wagon and cavalry traffic these days as the roads can support more of it. Our own traffic we hear quite plainly as it is closer to our works. If we listen hard, but not too hard, we can hear the Yankee traffic as well. We know it is theirs as there is so much more of it.

Our uniforms, which looked so new just a short time ago, are encrusted with mud as our brogans. At least the weather permits the mud to dry and be removed without much effort. It is good that some of the, "new", has been worn off of us. We are veterans, not band-box soldiers.

Robertson has lost his new shirt to Vincent in a card game of chance. White lost his new socks to Vincent in the same way. Both of them should know better. They will get no sympathy from me.

Civil War lice comb.

Although the suits of clothes are new, it did not take long before all the clothes supported colonies of greybacks. We think that the uniforms were issued to us already with a regulation number of the little biters.

Now I lay me down to sleep,
While gray-backs oe'r my body creep;
If I should die before I wake,
I prey the Lord their jaws to break.

(K)nitting lice.

He is cooking not food, but his clothes to kill lice.

We shall take the greatest pleasure in killing them all.

Our rations have taken a turn for the better. We feast on tinned beef. We think that the  miracle rations must have been run through the blockade from England as the labels all state that is the place of origin. Granted, we have been issued only two tins of beef per mess for each of two days along with our usual handful of rough cornmeal but we are thankful nonetheless. We have been subsisting for so long on short rations that were we to be issued more than this minute bounty that our stomachs would rebel.

A Civil War tin can.

When the tins were first issued, Terry open them up with his bayonet. We of the Dandy Eights Mess crowded around the tins, as interested as if he were opening the treasure chest of Blackbeard. A grey-yellow substance, thick but not firm, was seen on top. This layer was scraped away off but not thrown away. Nosir. Underneath was what we could identify as the flesh of some animal not exactly thought to be beef as the color was wrong. As Terry poured out the contents into our kettle, it seemed as if the solid parts were turning into liquid upon exposure to the air. I will not attempt to describe the smell. We ate the pot clean and pronounced it first rate. We hope to be issued more.

We were hoping to be granted some leave before the campaigning started up again. There does not seem to be much chance of that. As the weather improves and the roads dry, it is more likely that the Yankees will try something. Let them. Our cartridge boxes are full.

Lieutenant Williamson has just asked for four volunteers.


I Send You These Few Lines

A grayback is a period slang term for a louse and sometimes referred to rebel soldiers. The poem was written during the war by a Private Shield of the Virginia Light Artillery. Lice were not exclusive to the rebel ranks. The Union soldiers were eaten by lice just as much.

The brigade historian, J.F.J. Caldwell, writes of the issuing of English canned beef being issued to the brigade.

The weather is getting warmer at this time, if not much dryer. The roads are drying, if slowly. The roads will be very dry in no time. Is this related to the call for volunteers?