on their several mercenary errands, and, as it now appears, some sour little imp — the very reverse of a “sweet little cherub” — took toll of every man as he passed, — a heavy toll, namely, every man’s whole store of Patriotism and Loyalty. Every man — so it seems — who passed the Long Bridge was stripped of his last dollar of Amor Patriæ, and came to Washington, or went home, with a waistcoat-pocket full of bogus in change. It was our business now to open the bridge and see it clear, and leave sentries along to keep it permanently free for Freedom.
There is a mile of this Long Bridge. We seemed to occupy the whole length of it, with our files opened to diffuse the weight of our column. We were not now the tired and sleepy squad which just a moon ago had drudged along the railroad to the Annapolis Junction, looking up a Capital and Government, perhaps lost.
By the time we touched ground across the bridge, dawn was breaking, — a good omen for poor old sleepy Virginia. The moon, as bright and handsome as a new twenty-dollar piece, carried herself straight before us, — a splendid oriflamme.
Lucky is the private who marches with the van! It may be the post of more danger, but it is also the post of lest dust. My throat, therefore, and my eyes and beard, wore the less Southern soil when we halted half a mile beyond the bridge, and let sunrise overtake us.
Nothing men can do — except picnics, with ladies
