At Alexandria many of the men took the opportunity to imbibe a liberal quantity of liquid refreshments, the first chance they had to do so since the issuing of whiskey rations in the swamps in front of Richmond. To the credit of the 57th, but very few indulged beyond their capacity to carry their load steadily, but such could not be said of some of the other regiments in the division, notably one of New York, in which there were not a sufficient number of "sobers" to care for the "drunks." The cars on which we were shipped to the front were the ordinary "flats." By the time their "drunks" were safely deposited on these cars by the "sobers" fully one-half had rolled off into the side ditches, and so the process of reloading had to be repeated time and again with many intervening, and sometimes amusing, sparring matches to add to the confusion and delay. While these bacchanalian exhibitions were going on General Kearny and staff rode along the side of the railway track, doing what they could in the way of encouragement to the overworked "sobers" in their apparently endless task. As the general passed the 57th some member called out to a comrade near to the scene of drunken strife in progress on the adjoining cars, inquiring if any of the 57th were engaged in the fracas then going on. The general promptly turned in his saddle and shouted back, "No, thank God, there's none of the 57th!" It was not the regiment's privilege to ride all the way from Alexandria to its destination at the front. Disembarking near Catlett Station it advanced by easy marches. Somewhere on the Virginia Peninsula Captain Maxwell, of Company F, had secured the services of an old negro as his cook. At Malvern Hill this old fellow had not put sufficient space between himself and the enemy for safety, and found himself in rather close proximity for comfort to the shells of their batteries. While at Harrison's Landing it was the delight of the boys to get this old man to describe the battle and give his experience under fire. His inimitable imitation of the screaming shot and shell accompanied with grotesque pantomime was amusing in the extreme. We little thought, however, the deep impression these scenes and experiences had made upon his mind until again we came in sound of the enemy's guns. As the regiment advanced toward Bealeton the cannonading in our front became at times quite heavy. The old cook was trudging along by the side of the marching column, carrying a camp kettle, when suddenly the batteries opened fire. He stopped, looked and listened, with fear depicted in every lineament of his dusky face. "Dis chil' done gone fur 'nuf dis way!" he exclaimed. Then turning about took toward the rear as fast as his legs could carry him. It was the last seen of the captain's cook. CHAPTER V. BY J. M. MARTIN.