Free Karl Bacon by An Eye for Glory: The Civil War Chronicles of a Citizen Soldier Page B

things of itself.’ Think of the many simple blessings we see every day—food, shelter, clothing, fire, basic necessities all, but what of friendship, the birds of the air, the beauty of this land all around us, the love of our families? Give thanks tonight for each and also thank God for giving you His only Son. Only in Him is there lasting peace and hope.”
    I wrapped myself tightly in my new woolen blanket and slid under the cover of our new shelter tent. I knew John was right, and my prayer ended in restful sleep, but in the morning I awoke thoroughly chilled once again. Another gloomy day lay ahead.

CHAPTER 10

Bugs and the Band
    And he hath put a new song in my mouth,
even praise unto our God.

PSALM 40:3
    I T WAS DURING MANUAL-OF-ARMS DRILL ONE MORNING AT B OLI -var that my compatriots and I were schooled in another form of warfare. As we formed into squads to start the drill, it soon became impossible to maintain order in the ranks as first one, then another, and another of the men began to fret and fidget. Fidgeting gave way to furtive scratching, such as using the toe of one shoe to scratch the opposite ankle, as we tried to conceal our movements from the watchful eye of Captain Carpenter. But soon all semblance of secrecy was gone, and each man scratched busily not only at his ankles, but also at his wrists, armpits, belt-lines, and nether regions.
    “Cooties!” Captain Carpenter spat with disgust. “You all have cooties! Sergeant Holt, deal with these men!” The captain stalked off in the direction of his tent.
    “Cooties?” a score of voices asked in unison.
    “Yeah! Bugs! Graybacks!
Lice!”
Sergeant Holt was referring to the insidious little parasite known as the body louse, butthey were generally called by the names suggested by Sergeant Holt—or other names not fit to mention.
    “What should we do, Sergeant Holt?” I asked.
    “I’ll show you. You others gather round, ‘cause I’m only going through this once. Where are you itching?”
    “My legs, my armpits, my back, my—”
    “Okay, okay, just one place—your leg. Roll up your trouser leg.” I rolled it up to my knee. “Where’s it itch worst?”
    “Right here,” I said, indicating a place on the inside on my left knee.
    “Look for a small reddish bump there. See it? Feel it?”
    “Yes, Sergeant Holt.” I ran the tip of my finger over the spot.
    “That’s a cootie!” Sergeant Holt laughed a fiendish laugh. “It’s under your skin where it’s nice and warm, and it’s eating away at your flesh.” Sergeant Holt was the only one laughing. Sarge would have been sympathetic to our affliction. He would have forewarned us. How dearly I missed the man.
    “How do I get rid of it, Sergeant Holt?”
    “You need something sharp, like a small knife.”
    “A sewing needle?”
    “Sure,” Sergeant Holt responded. “It’ll hurt like the dickens, but just dig the little devil out and squish him between your fingers. Now, go get ‘em, men!”
    I reached into my pocket for the small sewing kit Jessie Anne had given me, wondering how she would have reacted had she witnessed the purpose for which it was first employed. I clenched my teeth against the pain, forced the needle under the telltale bump, and pried the cootie out. The pest was about a tenth of an inch long, but occasionally I found them up to twice that length. He had a small head and six crooked legs that he used to attach himself to his host —
me!
The louse popped most satisfyingly as my fingers squeezed the life out of him. I went in search of another, dug him out, and popped him. In half an hour I hadfound and killed a dozen of these vermin and quickly realized that, were I to engage in this pastime constantly, I could never defeat the enemy that way.
    Doc Rockwell told us that the only real cure was to bathe often and well with strong soap, something a body is reluctant to do during pleasant weather, but especially so during the cold winter months. Our clothing could