December 5 — It seems that the Yankees that drove in our pickets at Front Royal a few days ago went back through Chester’s Gap to eastern Virginia, and early this morning we were on the march again down the valley toward Winchester. At Bartonsville, six miles from Winchester, we left the pike and moved one mile east of Bartonsville and camped. This is very disagreeable weather for practical soldiering. It snowed all day and when we stopped in the woods late this evening to camp the snow was about four inches deep, and still snowing fast. This is a sort of scout we are on now, and we have no tent to shelter us from the inclemency of the wintry weather. Camping in a four-inch snow, without tents, is bordering on the verge of roughing it, like Indians; but old campaigners are nearly always equal to all the-demands of all kinds of emergencies, even when mixed up with snow. It was getting dark when we drove into the snowy, cheerless woods to camp. It took but a few moments to unsaddle and hitch our horses; then we divided our mess into fatigue of twos. Two went in search of straw for bedding, two chopping wood, two getting supper out of almost nothing, and two building shelter. The straw party soon got back with as much straw as they could carry, as they found a big stack not far away. Then the straw detail assisted the architects in constructing our castle for a night. In about an hour after we commenced operations supper began to smell good, and our house was finished and furnished and the bed-chamber ready for occupation. Our structure is built in the modern hog-nest style of architecture — a shed roof covered with a waterproof tarpaulin. The front is open and facing a rousing camp-fire of green hickory, and now as I am trying to write it is nearly ten o’clock. The fire is burning brightly in front of our house and flashing its cheerful dancing light all over our bed-chamber. The snow is still coming down fast and the woods are wrapped in a wintry shroud, but who cares for snow?
