Meantime the singing was brisk along the whole column, and when I sometimes reined up to see them pass, the chant of each company, entering my ear, drove out from the other ear the strain of the preceding.

Such an odd mixture of things, military and missionary, as the successive waves of song drifted byl First, "John Brown," of course; then, "What make old Satan for follow me so ?" then, "Marching Along"; then, "Hold your light on Canaan's shore"; then, "When this cruel war is over" (a new favorite, sung by a few); yielding presently to a grand burst of the favorite marching song among them all, and one at which every step instinctively quickened, so light and jubilant its rhythm,-- "All true children gwine in de wilderness, Gwine in de wilderness, gwine in de wilderness, True believers gwine in de wilderness, To take away de sins ob de world,"-- ending in a "Hoigh!" after each verse,--a sort of Irish yell.

For all the songs, but especially for their own wild hymns, they constantly improvised simple verses, with the same odd mingling,--the little facts of to-day's march being interwoven with the depths of theological gloom, and the same jubilant chorus annexed to all; thus,-- "We're gwin to de Ferry, De bell done ringing; Gwine to de landing, De bell done ringing; Trust, believer O, de bell done ringing; Satan's behind me, De bell done ringing; 'T is a misty morning, De bell done ringing; O de road am sandy, De bell done ringing; Hell been open, De bell done ringing";-- and so on indefinitely.
The little drum-corps kept in advance, a jolly crew, their drums slung on their backs, and the drum-sticks perhaps balanced on their heads.
With them went the officers' servant-boys, more uproarious still, always ready to lend their shrill treble to any song.

At the head of the whole force there walked, by some self-imposed pre-eminence, a respectable elderly female, one of the company laundresses, whose vigorous stride we never could quite overtake, and who had an enormous bundle balanced on her head, while she waved in her hand, like a sword, a long-handled tin dipper.

Such a picturesque medley of fun, war, and music I believe no white regiment in the service could have shown; and yet there was no straggling, and a single tap of the drum would at any moment bring order out of this seeming chaos.