Around these fires gathered the comrades of many a march and battle, to discuss the experiences of the past, to applaud or censure certain men and measures, and to lay plans, and to entertain rumors with regard to future operations. The gallantry and merits of companions fallen in strife were presented by those most intimate with them; and otherwise dreary hours were pleasantly whiled away with narratives of personal encounters, of terrible sufferings of prisoners while in the hands of the enemy, and of hair-breadth escapes. These accounts were generally enlivened with extra coloring drawn from the enchanting and fairy-like scenes which surrounded the speaker, and an entire group was thrilled and electrified until frequently the night was made to ring with uproarious applause. Occasionally the friends and home scenes we have left behind us became the subjects of conversation, and it is astonishing how that word "home," with its hallowed associations, touches the tender feelings of our hearts. These colloquies often ended with the good old hymn, "Home, sweet home," and with the sound of the last bugle-call we hastened to our rest, to spend, it may be, a miserable night of cold and storm. No soldier can ever forget these camp and bivouac scenes, for they are deeply photographed upon his memory. He will often recall their ludicrous as well as romantic side, when the mud was knee-deep and over, up to within a few feet of the fire, compelling him often to stand so near the burning pile as to set his clothes on fire. In very cold weather he would freeze one side while the other burned, unless he frequently performed that military feat, changing "his base of operations." If the wind blew, making his fantastic gyrations among the tents, so that you never knew whence he would come nor whither he would go, you were sure to get your face smoked horribly.