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	  A Night with Ayres� Battery
this military village which contrasted favorably 
in every respect with the wretched hovels or misera-
ble �shelter-tents� in which the Army of the Poto-
mac had shivered through the winter.        The fires
were still burning; for the enemy had occupied
the place in force overnight.    We got a corn-
cob pipe or two, found a dog, took a ride through
out the entrenchments, then rejoined our compani-
ons.     Capt. Ayres took up his quarters at a 
deserted church or meeting-house, amid a chaos
of logs and felled trees, with a homely graveyard
in the rear.           The interior presented a bare
aspect, two windows at the narrow ends, four
length wise, an old-fashioned ricketty gallery at
one of the former, ascended by a broken wooden
staircase; only a sounding board remained of
the pulpit, between the four windows, the torn
woodwork below revealing the lath and plaster of
the walls.          These were scribbled over with in-
numerable inscriptions in charcoal, among which
the �Letcher Guards� and �Maggie� � the last
in gigantic characters � were prominent.   I noti-
ced also roughly drawn cartoons of �Old Abe,�
hanging on a gallows, with the devil in waiting.
Evidently Georgia, Florida, Louisiana and
Virginian soldiers had left records there.  The
floor was littered with grain and corn-cobs, but
not unclean.        Here we made ourselves at