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“You cannot pass here, Sir, without a pass,” said the faithful sentry. Well, thought we, that is passing strange. So things have passed to a pretty pass, seeing that we have often passed that way when we have had no pass to pass us. Strange that a passenger cannot pass wherever he wants to pass, seeing that beyond all others this is a passably free country, where honest men can pass and repass by whatever passes they wish to pass. Surpassing strange, indeed; or would have been in past days. But passing events have a logic that surpasses all others, and to pass now without a pass is a trespass not to be passed by without punishment. We would have passed by without a pass, forcing a passage as we passed, but he passed his bayonet across the passage, and would have passed it through our body past remedy had we persisted in trying to pass. So we passed on the other way, annoyed beyond expression that a pass was necessary to pass us, and that in fact we could not pass without a pass. Passing and repassing the pass office we at length mustered resolution to pass the threshold past another sentinel, who did not pass a single remark about the surpassing necessity of having a pass if we would pass past him. We then passed through a passage to an inner room, where our name was passed to the proper officer, who passed us a pass that would enable us to pass where we wished to pass, and passing him our thanks we passed out through a crowd that were waiting to pass in as soon as we passed out. As we passed the sentinel, we passed him our pass for a passing inspection, and he passed us past the line without any remark about our passing past there without a pass. A great deal is said of the deeds of daring done by officers and men. This is very proper, but while we are doing so of some we should not overlook others. During the battle of Chancellorsville, while everybody was fighting and many were falling, there was one in their midst, who, although she was not fighting, was still engaged in a noble work. This one is “Mary,” the vivandiere of the One Hundred and Fourteenth Pensylvania Volunteers (Collis’s Zouaves). She was to be seen in the thickest of the fight, binding up the wounds of the fallen, regardless of her own safety. When the wounded were removed to a house on the field, she was there, and when that house was shelled and burnt by the rebels, she was there carrying out the wounded. Her dress was pierced by several bullets. All the wounded of the brigade look anxiously for her coming every morning at the hospital, for she makes daily visits there. On that bloody field she was often to be seen with a crowd of Zouaves around her, while she was engaged in binding up their wounds. The First Brigade of Birney’s Division can never forget Mary. What is comprehended in the march of a great army under the burning Southern suns of June and July? Will our rugged farmers who sweat in the harvest fields, or the tradesmen who daily put forth strong muscular effort in their ordinary business, beleive me when assuring them that, were the strongest from among their number for the first time to be arrayed with what each soldier daily and for many hours and many miles carries - knapsack, haversack, gun, ammunition pouch, tin cup, canteen, coffee boiler, with various other etceteras, weighing in all about as much as a bushel of wheat - and he, thus accoutered, started in the middle of a hot July day, on a dusty road, amid a thick and smothering crowd of men, horses, mules, and wagons, in less than a mile he would fall prostrate to the earth, and perhaps never be able to rise again. It has, however, taken two years of terrible practice to inure these iron men to undergo this wonderful physical endurance. Nor must it be forgotten that, in the hardening process, two out of three have sunk under the toil and exposure, and have disappeared from the army. During the crossing of the Rappahannock on the 6th of November, the following scene occurred:- The fire of the rebels, from their rifle pits, was proving fatal to many of our men, as they boldly sprang into the river. When nearly across, a Union soldier was seen to fall, plunging headlong into the stream. In his weakness he struggled in vain against the strong, tossing current, and it was evident that, whatever the nature of his wound, he must soon perish by drowning. At that moment, a rebel surgeon, impelled by the noble instincts of humanity, rushed from the opposite bank, and into the cold waters, seized the exhausted man, and, with superhuman effort, both rolling over repeatedly in the water, succeeded at length in rescuing and bringing him near shore. Both were dripping, and chilled almost to freezing; but there, on the river’s edge, stood the rebel surgeon, shivering yet tenderly supporting the wounded soldier in his arms. This humane act was witnessed by many on either side. By this time our troops had gained possession of the opposite bank and rifle pits, and the two men were quickly releived. The surgeon was of course a prisoner; but on report of what he had done, the General instantly ordered him to be taken to the hospital, warmly wrapped in blankets, and furnished with every comfort, as some token of appreciation of such generous conduct. A few days after the battle for the Wilderness, General Griffin met one of our fellows, with the lifeless bodies of a goose and a chicken dangling from his musket, and the following dialogue took place between the General and the Private. “Where did you steal those, you rascal?” “I was passing that house yonder, and the goose came out and hissed at the American flag, and I took him prisoner.” “But the hen, sir; how about the hen?” “Well, General, you see the hen was with the goose, and as I found him in bad company, I took him prisoner also.” The soldier gave the salute, and the General rode off. One afternoon a long, gaunt civilian, wearing a suit of rusty black, and a stovepipe hat, walking up in the rear of headquarters, was accosted by a hostler:
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