"That was some pumpkins".

Wednesday, February 25, 1863, Camp Gregg, Virginia

With all the time that I have that is not taken up with duties of a martial nature, and that is a good deal of time, there is scarcely any reason to not to be making an entry in this journal  on each and every day. There are simply too many temptations in camp and I am but mortal. When the weather permits, it will do this army well to resume active campaigning.

One such temptation is the playing of cards. It takes place in every tent and cabin in the regiment and I suppose it runs through the entire army. Jackson abhorrs such things and woe to he or they should Jackson catch them at it.

Even so, I will admit that I have been known to try my luck with the cards, knowing full well that I am no good at playing. It is something to pass the time. Some engage at cards but they do not play. They are too serious at it for it to be called play. These are the same folk that one would do well to stay away from. I know this instinctively; others learn from experience.

Duncan, Crenshaw and myself were walking between two rows of huts when we heard the laughter and whooping associated with a card game coming from one cabin. Crenshaw said that we should enter and he pointed to the large volume of smoke coming from the stick and mud chimney as evidence of a warm cabin. Duncan and I knew better. In that cabin were people who would steal the coins from a dead baby's eyes. We excused ourselves and bade him well. He went in and we went on.

It was not long before Crenshaw returned to our cabin looking lost and fragile. The day before, Lieutenant Williamson, with the help of Corporal Flynn, distributed the contents of two wooden boxes, courtesy from the generous and patriotic ladies of Lancaster County. Earlier in this war, since I am from Beaufort and the regiment is from the upcountry, I always felt guilty at accepting any gift from those who supported their boys as I am not one of them. 

That feeling of guilt passed some time ago. The boys accept me as one of their own and I accept whatever treasures come my way from my new "relations". This time, there was nothing to eat and we all were disappointed. There was, instead of hams and apples, quite a bit of winter clothing. I received a wool shirt and a pair of shoes in the general distribution. Duncan benefitted from a receipt of a pair of canton flannel drawers and a pair of socks. My shoes were much too small but I kept them in the hopes of trading them for a scarf or mittens much the same as what Castles aquired. Poor Crenshaw was not there and he was entitled to nothing. A good scarf and mittens help one to stand on guard duty in the cold.

When we saw poor Crenshaw, not only had he lost his socks but his shoes as well to those mosquitoes who bled him. He was lucky to have escaped with his trousers intact. Of course, Duncan and I had to take him under our wings lest he get frostbite and allow Surgeon  Prioleau to practice his trade. I gave up my new shoes and Duncan gave up his socks, his old ones.

There are other social distractions, strong drink being one of them. In the wrong hands, or stomachs, it can cause a great disturbance. Hancock, knowing that he drew guard duty in the snow, warmed himself before reporting to his post. Within five minutes of him starting his beat, he was approached by Corporal Flynn. Hancock challenged the Corporal as according to regulations. However, Flynn could not understand he challenge as Hancock's speech was slurred by his artificial warmth. Hancock got ugly and Flynn got uglier. Hancock was relieved and sent to the stockade.  Someone had to walk Hancock's beat and Holton drew the dirty duty. 

The following morning, when Hancock was released from the stockade, Holton was there to meet him and promptly struck him in the jaw. A general engagement ensued and now they both are in the stockade. That was some pumpkins.

Lincoln has seen fit to replace Burnside after he ruined his best army twice, once at Fredericksburg and once during the mud march. Joe Hooker is now in the saddle.  It is a pity. I would prefer Burnside.