Christmas Eve came. In the Southern camp back of the hills down the river road, up towards Banks Ford, out at Salem Church, and even in the town, hunger and cold were the lot of all. General Lee, wincing at the sufferings of his "tatterdermalion" forces, wrote and asked that the rations of his men be increased, but a doctor-inspector sent out by the often futile Confederate Government reported that the bacon ration of Lee's army--one-half a pound a day, might be cut down, as "the men can be _kept alive_ on this." General Lee himself wrote that his soldiers were eating berries, leaves, roots and the bark of trees to "supplement the ration," and although at this time the Confederate Government had a store of bacon and corn meal that would have fed _all_ its armies a half year, Lee's ragged soldiers starved throughout the winter. It is worthy of note here that when Lee's starving army moved, foodless, toward that last day at Appomattox, they marched past 50,000 pounds of bacon alone, which the Confederate commissary, at Mr. Jefferson Davis' orders, burned next day. We spoke of Christmas Eve, when in the long lines of the two camps' great fires beamed, voices rose in songs and hymns, and bands played. Late in the evening, when dusk had settled, a band near Brompton broke out defiantly into "Dixie," and from the Washington Farm a big band roared out "The Battle Hymn." There was a pause and then, almost simultaneously, they began "Home, Sweet Home," and catching the time played it through together. When it was done, up from the camps of these boys who were to kill and be killed, who were to die in misery on many a sodden field, rose a wild cheer. Hardly could two great armies ever before have lain for months' within sight of each other as these two did in almost amicable relations. There was no firing; the cannon-crowned hills were silent. Drills and great reviews took place on either bank of the river and in the Confederate ranks there went on a great religious "revival" that swept through the organization. Along the banks of the river where pickets; patrolled by day, and their little fires flamed in the night, trading was active. From the Union bank would come the call softly: "Johnny." "Yea, Yank." "Got any tobacco?" "Yes, want 't trade?" "Half pound of coffee for two plugs of tobacco, Reb." "'right, send 'er over." They traded coffee, tobacco, newspapers and provisions, sometimes wading out and meeting in mid-river, but as the industry grew, miniature ferry lines, operated by strings, began to ply. Soldiers and Generals passed and repassed in the streets of Fredericksburg, where wreckage still lay about in confusion, houses presented dilapidated fronts, and only a few of the citizens attempted to occupy their homes.