West Jersey Pioneer

SOLDIER LIFE IN DIXIE

A soldier in the rebel camp near Centreville, Virginia, writes, November 10th, as follows, to the Charleston Mercury:

Thermometer 32 degrees at sunrise, extremities cold as ice, with two heavy blankets for cover, and any number of bands playing "Away down South in Dixie." for reveille. It was a little of "Dixie," and a good deal of drum; but it was a relief, after a wakeful night, caused by retiring too soon, for the want of both candles and light wood. We have a hard time of it-thirteen hours of darkness out of twenty-four, without the comfort of reading or writing. We stand about two hours of it squatting before the fire, with our chins on our knees, and talk over the incidents of the camp: but this is tiresome, and we lay ourselves out, in our blankets, with ample time for meditation.
We mess with the surgeon of the regiment, a very popular gentleman, who has visitors all hours of the day and night. About midnight we are startled with a cry of "doctor, oh, doctor, is dying, and wants you to come and see him." Surgeon unrolls his woolens, and begins a hasty toilet. While this is being conducted with every diligence, by the starlight, questions are propounded as to the case-
"What does he complain of?"
"He's very bad off, doctor."
"What has he been eating?"
"Don't know, doctor."
"Went down to Manassas yesterday?"
"Yes sir."
"Eat raw corn on the way back?"
"Believe so, sir."
Doctor starts out, with a shawl around him, and is away about twenty minutes. In his absence we think what public spirited men physicians are. Endure all the hardships of soldier's life. liable to be overlooked by special boards, get rheumatism and coughs, and very little thanks.
The doctor returns; his patient has been down to the Junction, ate and drank a variety of things, returned to-camp and ate half a dozen dodgers, and as many ears of corn, half-roasted, natural consequence is "about to die" in the night- doesn't die, however, and is very penitent next day.
As we get toward the small hours of the morning, we hear conversation in the camps; we find out that when it is too cold to sleep under a seven dollar cotton blanket, the boys sit around the camp fires to keep warm, and sleep in the daytime in the sunshine. This is a tolerably good idea. The only trouble is, the sun doesn't shine every day, and good warm blankets would be better to rely upon.— I suppose Governor Pickens' bought ten thousand pairs of the cargo of the last arrival, and that these will soon be on. Better hurry them up; they are wanted.