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“it’s just that …” He raised one hand, pointed toward the woods, and said, “It’s just that somebody said that bitch, Banjo … somebody said the bitch’d absquatulated with one of the chaplain’s balls.”
    The colonel, pistol still in hand, studied the soldier for a moment, unblinking. “ ‘Absquatulated with one of the chaplain’s balls’?” he said impatiently.
    “Yes, sir,” said the private.
    The colonel’s grimace faded as he began to grasp the joke. Then at last he lowered his head and started to quake with silent laughter, prompting a renewed uproar from the troops.
    Once things had settled down and play resumed again, still with one out in the inning and the runner on the first base, the Bachelors’ second baseman, Billy Swift—aptly named; the kind of scrappy fielder who hurled himself at every ball that came near him—would astound the spectators. When Coulter, the Twighoppers’ brawny catcher, shot a rocket into the air between the first and second bases, Swift not only found the ball and brought it down on the fly—leaping nearly his own height off the field—but managed to tag the runner trying to advance, thus turning the Twighoppers out of the inning in abrupt and astonishing fashion.
    As the troops still cheered Swift’s antics, a half-dozen soldiers emerged from the pines in the distance, one of them waving the dog-stolen ball triumphantly over his head, and the troops’ ovation swelled. The foxhound trotted contrite behind the group of soldiers. At that same moment a cloud blotted out the sun. A strong wind swept across the whole place, bending the younger pines at the edge of the forest. Then the sun returned, blinding and hot.
    Camp near Brandy Station
Saturday evening, April 30
    Dearest Sister
,
    No official word has come down but I believe we are soon to move. These last few days our drills & target practice have increased three-fold & there is a universal stirring in the air. It has been nearly two weeks since all sutlers & citizens were ordered to vamoose & every day wagons of “inessential” goods & property are being sent back to Alexandria. Sometimes I imagine our low hill as seen from a bird in the sky & I think we resemble a busy colony of ants. Our river is all that separates us from General Lee’s army. They are dug in & unassailable on the other side, so we must trust our commanders to find a means of eluding them & coming at them another way. I write to you now for I am uncertain of when time& circumstances will allow another letter. I want to let you know that my long weeks of waiting to “see the elephant” are nearing an end. Though I anticipate future misery, I feel sure of my survival. Truman says “them’s the famous last words of a fresh fish” & well they might be, but if death comes for me down here in this wasted land they call Virginia, it will most definitely take me by surprise. I know what store you set by dreams, so I tell you that my dreams of battle are decidedly unhappy, but in them I am alive
.
    The rumors you have heard in Brooklyn about our rations are unfounded. We have beef & pork, tea & coffee, bread & potatoes, sugar & molasses. I understand the food has not always been this ample or good, but now there is no cause for complaint. Please tell Mrs. B to set her mind at ease in this regard—she’ll be glad to hear we even have plenty of soap. We are having less rain & more sun & wildflowers have begun sprouting everywhere. Less agreeable is the “weather” that looms over the men in the form of their contrary opinions about our officers. Every day brings a new argument with soldiers squaring off on one side or another of this or that colonel or general. They are like children fighting over the faults & merits of their family elders, a disposition that has redoubled as we draw closer to crossing the river. Likewise, from what I hear, our commanders often do not think much of one another, though Gen. Grant seems to enjoy the