That was Lumsden's way of controlling his men. He made them feel as if he knew that it was their determination to do their full duty, and the whole tone of the battery was kept up to the standard by the idea. The high standard of its personale was the result not of fear or compulsion, but of individual personal patriotism.
On this retreat it was difficult to find food for the army, and first one command, then another, ran mighty short. Passing through a mountainous thinly settled country during Christmas week, our Captain gave a few permits to different individuals to forage off the line of march. One forager heard of some mills along a creek some miles off the line of retreat, and struck out for them horseback. On his arrival at the first, he found it crowded with infantry men, each guarding his sack of wheat, and awaiting his turn to run it through the mill. The miller was there, and was asked if he could sell a sack of wheat. He replied: "these soldiers say they are bound to have all there is, and I help them grind it, to save injury to my mill. The wheat belongs to the neighborhood." "Where is there another mill?" "About three miles down the creek." Off our forager rode. He saw that money nor begging would prevail to get bread and determined on a bluff. The next mill had soldiers claiming all the wheat, but some of it was in boxes or bins. He called the miller out, and offered to pay for a couple of bushels. "It is not mine, said the miller, it belongs to people around here, but I had better take even Confederate money for it, than nothing at all, and if you can get a couple of bushels, go ahead." So into the mill our man went, with his sack, and walked up to a box holding perhaps ten bushels, on which sat a soldier with his rifle leaning against the box, with the request: "Let me get at the box, if you please." "You can't get any of this meal, our men need it all", reaching for his gun. "I'll show you about that, Sir, my men have had no bread for three days, and some of this wheat, I'm going to have" and he began shoveling it into his sack, regardless of protests, until sack was full; then he said, "that is all I want," turned to the mill hopper dumped it in, as soon as the same was about empty, putting his sack under the spout. When his sack was full of whole wheat meal, he tied it, paid the miller and rode off rejoicing. When he found the command that night, some hogs had been brought and issued by the commissary, and the two bushels of wheat meal was a Godsend. Our mess, after breakfast next morning, divided out to each, eleven big army biscuits apiece, but before dinner time, one gaunt member of the mess had finished up his lot and was on the lookout for more.