CAMP-FIRES OF THE BOYS IN GRAY.
The soldier may forget the long, weary march, with its dust, heat, and
thirst, and he may forget the horrors and blood of the battle-field, or
he may recall them sadly, as he thinks of the loved dead; but the
cheerful, happy scenes of the camp-fire he will never forget. How
willingly he closes his eyes to the present to dream of those happy,
careless days and nights! Around the fire crystallize the memories of
the soldier's life. It was his home, his place of rest, where he met
with good companionship. _Who kindled the fire?_ Nobody had matches,
there was no fire in sight, and yet scarcely was the camp determined
when the bright blaze of the camp-fire was seen. _He_ was a shadowy
fellow who kindled the fire. Nobody knows who he was; but no matter how
wet the leaves, how sobby the twigs, no matter if there was no fire in a
mile of the camp, that fellow could start one. Some men might get down
on hands and knees, and blow it and fan it, rear and charge, and fume
and fret, and yet "she wouldn't burn." But this fellow would come, kick
it all around, scatter it, rake it together again, shake it up a little,
and oh, _how it burned_! The little flames would bite the twigs and snap
at the branches, embrace the logs, and leap and dance and laugh, at the
touch of the master's hand, and soon lay at his feet a bed of glowing
coals.
As soon as the fire is kindled all hands want water. Who can find it?
Where is it? Never mind; we have a man who knows where to go. He says,
"Where's our bucket?" and then we hear the rattle of the old tin cup as
it drops to the bottom of it, and away he goes, nobody knows where. But
_he_ knows, and he doesn't stop to think, but without the slightest
hesitation or doubt strikes out in the darkness. From the camp-fire as a
centre, draw 500 radii, and start an ordinary man on any of them, and
let him walk a mile on each, and he will miss the water. But that fellow
in the mess with the water instinct never failed. He would go as
straight for the spring, or well, or creek, or river, as though he had
lived in that immediate neighborhood all his life and never got water
anywhere else. What a valuable man he was! A modest fellow, who never
knew his own greatness. But others remember and honor him. May he never
want for any good thing!
Having a roaring fire and a bucket of good water, we settle down. A man
cannot be comfortable "_anywhere_;" so each man and his "chum" picks out
a tree, and that particular tree becomes the homestead of the two. They
hang their canteens on it, lay their haversacks and spread their
blankets at the foot of it, and sit down and lean their weary backs
against it, and feel that they are at home. How gloomy the woods are
beyond the glow of our fire! How cozy and comfortable we are who stand
around it and inhale the aroma of the coffee-boiler and skillet!
The man squatting by the fire is a person of importance. He doesn't
talk, not he; his whole mind is concentrated on that skillet. He is our
cook,--volunteer, natural and talented cook. Not in a vulgar sense. He
doesn't mix, but simply bakes, the biscuit. Every faculty, all the
energy, of the man is employed in that great work. Don't suggest
anything to him if you value his friendship. Don't attempt to put on or
take off from the top of that skillet one single coal, and don't be in a
hurry for the biscuit. You need not say you "like yours half done," etc.
Simply wait. When he thinks they are ready, and not before, you get
them. _He_ may raise the lid cautiously now and then and look in, but
don't _you_ look in. Don't say you think they are done, because it's
useless. Ah! his face relaxes; he raises the lid, turns it upside down
to throw off the coals, and says, _All right, boys_! And now, with the
air of a wealthy philanthropist, he distributes the solid and weighty
product of his skill to, as it were, the humble dependents around him.
The "General" of the mess, having satisfied the cravings of the inner
man, now proceeds to enlighten the ordinary members of it as to when,
how, and why, and where, the campaign will open, and what will be the
result. He arranges for every possible and impossible contingency, and
brings the war to a favorable and early termination. The greatest
mistake General Lee ever made was that he failed to consult this man.
Who can tell what "might have been" if he had?
Now, to the consternation of all hands, our old friend "the Bore,"
familiarly known as "the old Auger," opens his mouth to tell us of a
little incident illustrative of his personal prowess, and, by way of
preface, commences at Eden, and goes laboriously through the patriarchal
age, on through the Mosaic dispensation, to the Christian era, takes in
Grecian and Roman history by the way, then Spain and Germany and England
and colonial times, and the early history of our grand republic, the
causes of and necessity for our war, and a complete history up to date,
and then slowly unfolds the little matter. We always loved to hear this
man, and prided ourselves on being the only mess in the army having such
treasure _all our own_.
The "Auger," having been detailed for guard-duty, walks off; his voice
grows fainter and fainter in the distance, and we call forth our poet.
One eye is bandaged with a dirty cotton rag. He is bareheaded, and his
hair resembles a dismantled straw stack. His elbows and knees are out,
and his pants, from the knee down, have a brown-toasted tinge imparted
by the genial heat of many a fire. His toes protrude themselves
prominently from his shoes. You would say, "What a dirty, ignorant
fellow." But listen to his rich, well-modulated voice. How perfect his
memory! What graceful gestures! How his single eye glows! See the color
on his cheek! See the strained and still attention of the little group
around him as he steps into the light of the fire! Hear him!
"I am dying, Egypt, dying!
Ebbs the crimson life-tide fast,
And the dark Plutonian shadows
Gather on the evening blast.
Let thine arms, O Queen, support me,
Hush thy sobs and bow thine ear;
Listen to the great heart secrets--
Thou, and thou alone, must hear.
"I am dying, Egypt, dying!
Hark! the insulting foeman's cry.
They are coming! quick! my falchion!!
Let me front them ere I die.
Ah! no more amid the battle
Shall my heart exulting swell--
Isis and Osiris guard thee--
Cleopatra! Rome! Farewell!"
[Illustration: THE POET OF OUR MESS.]
"Good!" "Bully!" "Go ahead, Jack!" "Give us some more, old fellow!" And
he generally did, much to everybody's satisfaction. We all loved Jack,
_the Poet_ of our mess. He sleeps, his battles o'er, in Hollywood.
The _Singing_ man generally put in towards the last, and sung us to bed.
He was generally a diminutive man, with a sweet voice and a sweetheart
at home. His songs had in them rosy lips, blue eyes, golden hair, pearly
teeth, and all that sort of thing. Of course he would sing some good
rollicking songs, in order to give all a chance. And so, with hearty
chorus, "Three times around went she," "Virginia, Virginia, the Land of
the Free," "No surrender," "Lula, Lula, Lula is gone," "John Brown's
Body," with many variations, "Dixie," "The Bonny Blue Flag," "Farewell
to the Star-Spangled Banner," "Hail Columbia," with immense variations,
and "Maryland, My Maryland," till about the third year of the war, when
we began to think Maryland had "breathed and burned" long enough, and
ought to "come." What part of her did come was _first-class_. How the
woods did ring with song! There were patriotic songs, romantic and love
songs, sarcastic, comic, and war songs, pirates' glees, plantation
melodies, lullabies, good old hymn tunes, anthems, Sunday-school songs,
and everything but vulgar and obscene songs; these were scarcely ever
heard, and were nowhere in the army well received or encouraged.
The recruit--our latest acquisition--was _so_ interesting. His nice
clean clothes, new hat, new shoes, trimming on his shirt front, letters
and cross-guns on his hat, new knife for all the fellows to borrow, nice
comb for general use, nice little glass to shave by, good smoking
tobacco, money in his pocket to lend out, oh, what a great convenience
he was! How _many_ things he had that a fellow could borrow, and how
willing he was to go on guard, and get wet, and give away his rations,
and bring water, and cut wood, and ride horses to water! And he was so
clean and sweet, and his cheeks so rosy, all the fellows wanted to bunk
with him under his nice new blanket, and impart to him some of their
numerous and energetic "tormentors."
And then it was so _interesting_ to hear him talk. He knew _so much_
about war, arms, tents, knapsacks, ammunition, marching, fighting,
camping, cooking, shooting, and everything a soldier is and does. It is
remarkable how much a recruit and how little an old soldier knows about
such things. After a while the recruit forgets all, and is as ignorant
as any veteran. How good the fellows were to a really gentlemanly boy!
How they loved him!
The _Scribe_ was a wonderful fellow and very useful. He could write a
two-hours' pass, sign the captain's name better than the captain
himself, and endorse it "respectfully forwarded approved," sign the
colonel's name after "respectfully forwarded approved," and then on up
to the commanding officer. And do it so well! Nobody wanted anything
better. The boys had great veneration for the scribe, and used him
constantly.
The _Mischievous_ man was very useful. He made fun. He knew how to
volunteer to shave a fellow with a big beard and moustache. He wouldn't
lend his razor, but he'd shave him very well. He shaves one cheek, one
half the chin, one side of the upper lip, puts his razor in his pocket,
walks off, and leaves his customer the most one-sided chap in the army.
He knew how to do something like this _every day_. What a treasure to a
mess!
The _Forager_ was a good fellow. He always divided with the mess. If
there was buttermilk anywhere inside of ten miles he found it. Apples he
could smell from afar off. If anybody was killing pork in the county he
got the spare-ribs. If a man had a cider cart on the road he saw him
first and bought him out. No _hound_ had a keener scent, no eagle a
sharper eye. How indefatigable he was! Distance, rivers, mountains,
pickets, patrols, roll-calls,--nothing could stop or hinder him. He
never bragged about his exploits; simply brought in the spoils, laid
them down, and said, "Pitch in." Not a word of the weary miles he had
traveled, how he begged or how much he paid,--simply "Pitch in."
[Illustration]
The _Commissary_ man--he happened to be in our mess--never had any sugar
over, any salt, any soda, any coffee--oh, no! But beg him, plead with
him, bear with him when he says, "Go way, boy! Am I the
commissary-general? Have I got all the sugar in the Confederacy? Don't
you know rations are short now?" Then see him relax. "Come here, my son;
untie that bag there, and look in that old jacket, and you will find
another bag,--a little bag,--and look in there and you will find some
sugar. Now go round and tell everybody in camp, won't you. Tell 'em all
to come and get some sugar. _Oh! I know you won't. Oh yes, of course!_"
As a general rule every mess had a "Bully" and an "Argument man." Time
would fail me to tell of the "lazy man," the "brave man," the "worthless
man," the "ingenious man," the "helpless man," the "sensitive man," and
the "gentleman," but they are as familiar to the members of the mess as
the "honest man," who would not eat stolen pig, but would "take a little
of the gravy."
Every soldier remembers--indeed, was personally acquainted with--the
_Universal_ man. How he denied vehemently his own identity, and talked
about "poison oak," and heat, and itch, and all those things, and
strove, in the presence of those who knew how it was themselves, to
prove his absolute freedom from anything like "universality!" Poor
fellow! sulphur internally and externally would not do. Alas! his only
hope was to acknowledge his unhappy state, and stand, in the presence of
his peers, confessed.
The "Boys in Blue" generally preferred to camp in the open fields. The
Confeds took to the woods, and so the Confederate camp was not as
orderly or as systematically arranged, but the most picturesque of the
two. The blazing fire lit up the forms and faces and trees around it
with a ruddy glow, but only deepened the gloom of the surrounding woods;
so that the soldier pitied the poor fellows away off on guard in the
darkness, and, hugging himself, felt how good it was to be with the
fellows around the fire. How companionable was the blaze and the glow of
the coals! They warmed the heart as well as the foot. The imagination
seemed to feed on the glowing coals and surrounding gloom, and when the
soldier gazed on the fire peace, liberty, home, strolls in the woods and
streets with friends, the church, the school, playmates, and sweethearts
all passed before him, and even the dead came to mind. Sadly, yet
pleasantly, he thought of the loved and lost; the future loomed up, and
the possibility of death and prison and the grief at home would stir his
heart, and the tears would fall trickling to the ground. Then was the
time to fondle the little gifts from home; simple things,--the little
pin-cushion, the needle-case, with thread and buttons, the embroidered
tobacco bag, and the knitted gloves. Then the time to gaze on
photographs, and to read and re-read the letter telling of the struggles
at home, and the coming box of good things,--butter and bread, toasted
and ground coffee, sugar cakes and pies, and other comfortable things,
prepared, by self-denial, for the soldier, brother, and son. Then the
time to call on God to spare, protect, and bless the dear, defenseless,
helpless ones at home. Then the time for high resolves; to read to
himself his duty; to "re-enlist for the war." Then his heart grew to his
comrades, his general, and his country; and as the trees, swept by the
wintry winds, moaned around him, the soldier slept and dreamed, and
dreamed of home, sweet home.
Those whose knowledge of war and its effects on the character of the
soldier was gleaned from the history of the wars of Europe and of
ancient times, greatly dreaded the demoralization which they supposed
would result from the Confederate war for independence, and their
solicitude was directed mainly towards the young men of Virginia and the
South who were to compose the armies of the Confederate States. It was
feared by many that the bivouac, the camp-fires, and the march would
accustom the ears of their bright and innocent boys to obscenity, oaths,
and blasphemy, and forever destroy that purity of mind and soul which
was their priceless possession when they bid farewell to home and
mother. Some feared the destruction of the battle-field; the wiser
feared hardship and disease; and others, more than all, the destruction
of morals and everything good and pure in character. That the fears of
the last named were realized in some cases cannot be denied; but that
the general result was demoralization can be denied, and the contrary
demonstrated.
Let us consider the effect of camp-life upon a pure and noble boy; and
to make the picture complete, let us go to his home and witness the
parting. The boy is clothed as a soldier. His pockets and his haversack
are stored with little conveniences made by the loving hands of mother,
sister, and sweetheart, and the sad yet proud hour has arrived. Sisters,
smiling through their tears, filled with commingled pride and sorrow,
kiss and embrace their great hero. The mother, with calm heroism
suppressing her tender maternal grief, impresses upon his lips a
fervent, never-to-be-forgotten kiss, presses him to her heart, and
resigns him to God, his country, and his honor. The father, last to
part, presses his hand, gazes with ineffable love into his bright eyes,
and, fearing to trust his feelings for a more lengthy farewell, says,
"Good-by, my boy; God bless you; be a man!"
Let those scoff who will; but let them know that such a parting is
itself a new and wonderful power, a soul-enlarging, purifying, and
elevating power, worth the danger, toil, and suffering of the soldier.
The sister's tears, the father's words, the mother's kiss, planted in
the memory of that boy, will surely bring forth fruit beautiful as a
mother's love.
As he journeys to the camp, how dear do all at home become! Oh, what
holy tears he sheds! His heart, how tender! Then, as he nears the line,
and sees for the first time the realities of war, the passing sick and
weary, and the wounded and bloody dead, his soldier spirit is born; he
smiles, his chest expands, his eyes brighten, his heart swells with
pride. He hurries on, and soon stands in the magic circle around the
glowing fire, the admired and loved pet of a dozen true hearts. Is he
happy? Aye! Never before has he felt such glorious, swelling, panting
joy. He's a soldier now! He is put on guard. No longer the object of
care and solicitude he stands in the solitude of the night, himself a
guardian of those who sleep. Courage is his now. He feels he is trusted
as a man, and is ready at once nobly to perish in the defense of his
comrades.
He marches. Dare he murmur or complain? No; the eyes of all are upon
him, and endurance grows silently, till pain and weariness are familiar,
and cheerfully borne. At home he would be pitied and petted; but now he
must endure, or have the contempt of the strong spirits around him.
He is hungry,--so are others; and he must not only bear the privation,
but he must divide his pitiful meal, when he gets it, with his comrades;
and so generosity strikes down selfishness. In a thousand ways he is
tried, and that by sharp critics. His smallest faults are necessarily
apparent, for, in the varying conditions of the soldier, every quality
is put to the test. If he shows the least cowardice he is undone. His
courage must never fail. He must be manly and independent, or he will be
told he's a baby, ridiculed, teased, and despised. When war assumes her
serious dress, he sees the helplessness of women and children, he hears
their piteous appeals, and chivalry burns him, till he does his utmost
of sacrifice and effort to protect, and comfort, and cheer them.
It is a mistake to suppose that the older men in the army encouraged
vulgarity and obscenity in the young recruit; for even those who
themselves indulged in these would frown on the first show of them in a
boy, and without hesitation put him down mercilessly. No parent could
watch a boy as closely as his mess-mates did and could, because they saw
him at all hours of the day and night, dependent on himself alone, and
were merciless critics, who demanded more of their _protege_ than they
were willing to submit to themselves.
The young soldier's piety had to perish ignominiously, or else assume a
boldness and strength which nothing else could so well impart as the
temptations, sneers, and dangers of the army. Religion had to be bold,
practical, and courageous, or die.
In the army the young man learned to value men for what they were, and
not on account of education, wealth, or station; and so his attachments,
when formed, were sincere and durable, and he learned what constitutes a
man and a desirable and reliable friend. The stern demands upon the boy,
and the unrelenting criticisms of the mess, soon bring to mind the
gentle forbearance, kind remonstrance, and loving counsels of parents
and homefolks; and while he thinks, he weeps, and loves, and reverences,
and yearns after the things against which he once strove, and under
which he chafed and complained. Home, father, mother, sister,--oh, how
far away; oh, how dear! Himself, how contemptible, ever to have felt
cold and indifferent to such love! Then, how vividly he recalls the warm
pressure of his mother's lips on the forehead of her boy! How he loves
his mother! See him as he fills his pipe from the silk-embroidered bag.
There is his name embroidered carefully, beautifully, by his sister's
hand. Does he forget her? Does he not now love her more sincerely and
truly and tenderly than ever? Could he love her quite as much had he
never parted; never longed to see her and could not; never been
uncertain if she was safe; never felt she might be homeless, helpless,
insulted, a refugee from home? Can he ever now look on a little girl and
not treat her kindly, gently, and lovingly, remembering his sister? A
boy having ordinary natural goodness, and the home supports described,
and the constant watching of men, ready to criticise, could but improve.
The least exhibition of selfishness, cowardice, vulgarity, dishonesty,
or meanness of any kind, brought down the dislike of every man upon
him, and persistence in _any one_ disreputable practice, or habitual
laziness and worthlessness, resulted in complete ostracism, loneliness,
and misery; while, on the other hand, he might, by good behavior and
genuine generosity and courage, secure unbounded love and sincere
respect from all.
Visits home, after prolonged absence and danger, open to the young
soldier new treasures--new, because, though possessed always, never
before felt and realized. The affection once seen only in every-day
attention, as he reaches home, breaks out in unrestrained vehemence. The
warm embrace of the hitherto dignified father, the ecstatic pleasure
beaming in the mother's eye, the proud welcome of the sister, and the
wild enthusiasm even of the old black mammy, crowd on him the knowledge
of their love, and make him braver, and stronger, and nobler. He's a
hero from that hour! Death for these, how easy!
The dangers of the battle-field, and the demands upon his energy,
strength, and courage, not only strengthen the old, but almost create
new, faculties of mind and heart. The death, sudden and terrible, of
those dear to him, the imperative necessity of standing to his duty
while the wounded cry and groan, and while his heart yearns after them
to help them, the terrible thirst, hunger, heat, and weariness,--all
these teach a boy self-denial, attachment to duty, the value of peace
and safety; and, instead of hardening him, as some suppose they do, make
him pity and love even the enemy of his country, who bleeds and dies for
_his_ country.
The acquirement of subordination is a useful one, and that the soldier
perforce has; and that not in an abject, cringing way, but as realizing
the necessity of it, and seeing the result of it in the good order and
consequent effectiveness and success of the army as a whole, but more
particularly of his own company and detachment. And if the soldier rises
to office, the responsibility of command, attention to detail and
minutiae, the critical eyes of his subordinates and the demands of his
superiors, all withdraw him from the enticements of vice, and mould him
into a solid, substantial character, both capable and willing to meet
and overcome difficulties.
The effect of out-door life on the physical constitution is undoubtedly
good, and as the physical improves the mental is improved; and as the
mind is enlightened the spirit is ennobled. Who can calculate the
benefit derived from the contemplation of the beautiful in nature, as
the soldier sees? Mountains and valleys, dreary wastes and verdant
fields, rivers, sequestered homes, quiet, sleepy villages, as they lay
in the morning light, doomed to the flames at evening; scenes which
alternately stir and calm his mind, and store it with a panorama whose
pictures he may pass before him year after year with quiet pleasure. War
is horrible, but still it is in a sense a privilege to have lived in
time of war. The emotions are never so stirred as then. Imagination
takes her highest flights, poetry blazes, song stirs the soul, and every
noble attribute is brought into full play.
It does seem that the production of one Lee and one Jackson is worth
much blood and treasure, and the building of a noble character all the
toil and sacrifice of war. The camp-fires of the Army of Northern
Virginia were not places of revelry and debauchery. They often exhibited
scenes of love and humanity, and the purest sentiments and gentlest
feelings of man were there admired and loved, while vice and debauch, in
any from highest to lowest, were condemned and punished more severely
than they are among those who stay at home and shirk the dangers and
toils of the soldier's life. Indeed, the demoralizing effects of the
late war were far more visible "at home," among the skulks and
bomb-proofs and suddenly diseased, than in the army. And the demoralized
men of to-day are not those who served in the army. The defaulters, the
renegades, the bummers and cheats, are the boys who enjoyed fat places
and salaries and easy comfort; while the solid, respected, and reliable
men of the community are those who did their duty as soldiers, and,
having learned to suffer in war, have preferred to labor and suffer and
earn, rather than steal, in peace.
And, strange to say, it is not those who suffered most and lost most,
fought and bled, saw friend after friend fall, wept the dead and buried
their hopes,--who are now bitter and dissatisfied, quarrelsome and
fretful, growling and complaining; no, they are the peaceful,
submissive, law-abiding, order-loving, of the country, ready to join
hands with all good men in every good work, and prove themselves as
brave and good in peace as they were stubborn and unconquerable in war.
Many a weak, puny boy was returned to his parents a robust, healthy,
_manly man_. Many a timid, helpless boy went home a brave, independent
man. Many a wild, reckless boy went home sobered, serious, and
trustworthy. And many whose career at home was wicked and blasphemous
went home changed in heart, with principles fixed, to comfort and
sustain the old age of those who gave them to their country, not
expecting to receive them again. Men learned that life was passable and
enjoyable without a roof or even a tent to shelter from the storm; that
cheerfulness was compatible with cold and hunger; and that a man without
money, food, or shelter need not feel utterly hopeless, but might, by
employing his wits, find something to eat where he never found it
before; and feel that, like a terrapin, he might make himself at home
wherever he might be. Men did actually become as independent of the
imaginary "necessities" as the very wild beasts. And can a man learn all
this and not know better than another how to economize what he has, and
how to appreciate the numberless superfluities of life? Is he not made,
by the knowledge he has of how little he really needs, more independent
and less liable to dishonest exertions to procure a competency?
If there were any true men in the South, any brave, any noble, they were
in the army. If there are good and true men in the South now, they would
go into the army for similar cause. And to prove that the army
demoralized, you must prove that the men who came out of it are the
worst in the country to-day. Who will try it?
Strange as it may seem, religion flourished in the army. So great was
the work of the chaplains that whole volumes have been written to
describe the religious history of the four years of war. Officers who
were ungodly men found themselves restrained alike by the grandeur of
the piety of the great chiefs, and the earnestness of the humble
privates around them. Thousands embraced the Gospel, and died triumphing
over death. Instead of the degradation so dreaded, was the strange
ennobling and purifying which made men despise all the things for which
they ordinarily strive, and glory in the sternest hardships, the most
bitter self-denials, cruel suffering, and death. Love for home, kindred,
and friends, intensified, was denied the gratification of its yearnings,
and made the motive for more complete surrender to the stern demands of
duty. Discipline, the cold master of our enemies, never caught up with
the gallant devotion of our Christian soldiers, and the science of war
quailed before the majesty of an army singing hymns.
Hypocrisy went home to dwell with the able-bodied skulkers, being too
closely watched in the army, and too thoroughly known to thrive. And so
the camp-fire often lighted the pages of the best Book, while the
soldier read the orders of the Captain of his salvation. And often did
the songs of Zion ring out loud and clear on the cold night air, while
the muskets rattled and the guns boomed in the distance, each
intensifying the significance of the other, testing the sincerity of the
Christian while trying the courage of the soldier. Stripped of all
sensual allurements, and offering only self-denial, patience, and
endurance, the Gospel took hold of the deepest and purest motives of the
soldiers, won them thoroughly, and made the army as famous for its
forbearance, temperance, respect for women and children, sobriety,
honesty, and morality as it was for endurance and invincible courage.
[Illustration]
Never was there an army where feeble old age received such sympathy,
consideration, and protection. Women, deprived of their natural
protectors, fled from the advancing hosts of the enemy, and found safe
retreat and chivalrous protection and shelter in the lines of the Army
of Northern Virginia. Children played in the camps, delighted to nestle
in the arms of the roughly-clad but tender-hearted soldiers. Such was
the behavior of the troops on the campaign in Pennsylvania, that the
citizens of Gettysburg have expressed wonder and surprise at their
perfect immunity from insult, violence, or even intrusion, when their
city was occupied by and in complete possession of the Boys in Gray.
[Illustration]