[217]
trousers was fully four inches above my worn-out, soleless shoes.
My soft wool hat was battered and torn until it didn't deserve to be dignified by the name of hat. It was scarcely a head covering.
A few days after this election we began our retreat between the York and James rivers to Chickahominy swamp, via Williamsburg, and in passing the 14th North Carolina I overheard this remark loudly spoken by one ‘Tar Heel’ to another: ‘Look there, boys, see that uniform? there goes your new election.’ I was trudging along by the side of my company in the same uniform in which I had saluted Col. Jones, and with the borrowed sword buckled around me. The dillapidated condition of the whole regiment was a constant source of humorous remarks, not only by those who composed but by all who saw it. But they were not alone in this particular. The army at Yorktown was one clothed in rags.
