My first experience with this “flat” soup was very instructive, if not agreeable.  I had come into prison, as did most other prisoners, absolutely destitute of dishes, or cooking utensils.  The well-used, half-canteen frying-pan, the blackened quart cup, and the spoon, which formed the usual kitchen outfit of the cavalryman in the field, were in the haversack on my saddle, and were lost to me when I separated from my horse.  Now, when we were told that we were to draw soup, I was in great danger of losing my ration from having no vessel in which to receive it.  There were but few tin cups in the prison, and these were, of course, wanted by their owners.  By great good fortune I found an empty fruit can, holding about a quart.  I was also lucky enough to find a piece from which to make a bail.  I next manufactured a spoon and knife combined from a bit of hoop-iron.

These two humble utensils at once placed myself and my immediate chums on another plane, as far as worldly goods were concerned.  We were better off than the mass, and as well off as the most fortunate.  It was a curious illustration of that law of political economy which teaches that so-called intrinsic value is largely adventitious.  Their possession gave us infinitely more consideration among our fellows than would the possession of a brown-stone front in an eligible location, furnished with hot and cold water throughout, and all the modern improvements.  It was a place where cooking utensils were in demand, and title-deeds to brown-stone fronts were not.  We were in possession of something which every one needed every day, and, therefore, were persons of consequence and consideration to those around us who were present or prospective borrowers.

On our side we obeyed another law of political economy:  We clung to our property with unrelaxing tenacity, made the best use of it in our intercourse with our fellows, and only gave it up after our release and entry into a land where the plenitude of cooking utensils of superior construction made ours valueless.  Then we flung them into the sea, with little gratitude for the great benefit they had been to us.  We were more anxious to get rid of the many hateful recollections clustering around them.

But, to return to the alleged soup:  As I started to drink my first ration it seemed to me that there was a superfluity of bugs upon its surface.  Much as I wanted animal food, I did not care for fresh meat in that form.  I skimmed them off carefully, so as to lose as little soup as possible.  But the top layer seemed to be underlaid with another equally dense.  This was also skimmed off as deftly as possible.  But beneath this appeared another layer, which, when removed, showed still another; and so on, until I had scraped to the bottom of the can, and the last of the bugs went with the last of my soup.  I have before spoken of the remarkable bug fecundity of the beans (or peas).  This was a demonstration of it.  Every scouped out pea (or bean) which found its way into the soup bore inside of its shell from ten to twenty of these hard-crusted little weevil.  Afterward I drank my soup without skimming.  It was not that I hated the weevil less, but that I loved the soup more.  It was only another step toward a closer conformity to that grand rule which I have made the guiding maxim of my life: