PREFACE.
"Co. Aytch." This week's Herald contains the last number of "Co. Aytch" that will be published in the paper. . . . . . . . . The Generals, and President, and Vice-President, and other high officials have published their accounts of the war, but Sam Watkins is the first high private who has written up the common soldier side of the matter. In big gilt-edge books, the General, the President, and the Vice-President, tell about their plans, their battles, their retreats, their measures, and their ideas, and not a word about what the poor, sore-footed, hungry, and naked soldier felt. In "Co. Aytch," we see the old "webfoot," dressed in a dirty, greasy, gray suit—or rather non-suit—a cotton blanket thrown across his shoulder, and fastened under his cartridge-box belt; a greasy, dirty haversack hanging down—very thin and flabby; with shoes of untanned leather. There he goes, footsore, tired, and hungry, but chipper and sassy, and ready for the battle. In “Co. Aytch " we see this same webfoot" in camp: cooking his rations—corn meal bread, corn meal coffee, corn meal soup, blue beef, with not an eye of grease on it. He lies down on the cold ground, in an old thin blanket, and shivers through the night. In "Co. Aytch," we hear this "webfoot" talking to his comrades, cheering their drooping spirits, discussing the situation, defending the General, hoping for final victory, and a glorious return home to father, mother, and sweetheart. In "Co. Aytch" we see this same "webfoot," hungry, ragged, dirty, and footsore, "on the battle's perilous edge," the light of victory in his eye, a gun with a gleaming bayonet in his hands, springing forward like a deer, a ringing shout upon his lips, rushing up to the breastworks, behind which belch Napoleon guns and volleys of musketry; see him cross the abattis at a bound; see him as he stands upon the enemy's ramparts, shouting victory! In "Co. Aytch" we see this same "webfoot" shot down by a minnie ball, and lying cold and stark in death, and thrown into a common shallow grave, unhonored, unknown, and unsung, far away from fond loved ones. In "Co. Aytch" to see other soldiers, driven by hunger, stealing hogs, others deserting and going home. All this we see in "Co. Aytch." Every old soldier, and every son of an old soldier, should have a copy of it.—Columbia Herald.
