met for prayer and praise in the "bomb-proofs." Let me try to picture several scenes as specimens of our daily work along the Petersburg lines. One day I went to Wise's brigade, stationed in the trenches near the Appomattox, at a point where the lines of the enemy were so close that it was almost certain death to show your head above the parapet. As I went into the lines I saw what I frequently witnessed. An immense mortar shell (the men used to call them "lamp-posts") would fly overhead, and some "gray-jacket" would exclaim, "That is my shell! That is my shell!" and would scarcely wait for the smoke from its explosion to clear away before rushing forward to gather the scattered fragments, which he would sell to the ordnance officer for a few cents a pound (Confederate money), to help eke out his scant rations. Entering the trenches I joined Maj. John R. Bagby, of the Thirty-fourth Virginia regiment, who accompanied me down the lines as we distributed tracts and religious newspapers, and talked with the men concerning the great salvation. There was a good deal of picket-firing going on at the time, the minie balls would whistle by our ears, and I found myself constantly dodging, to the no small amusement of the men. At last we came to a man who was the possessor of a frying-pan, and the still more fortunate possessor of something to fry in it. As we stood near, a minie struck in the center of his fire and threw ashes all around. But he went on with his culinary operations, coolly remarking, "Plague take the fellows; they'll spoil my grease yet before they stop their foolishness." Soon after, the major proposed that we should go into one of the "bomb-proofs" and join in the noonday prayer-meeting. I am afraid that some other feeling besides a devotional spirit prompted me to acquiesce at once. But when we went in we found the large "bomb-proof" filled with devout worshippers, and it proved one of the most tender, precious meetings I ever attended.
