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They rolled their blankets and stowed their personal items before taking any coffee or breakfast, ensuring that their equipment was ready. Theirs was a cheerful countenance around the fire once the morning chores were completed, adding an edge to any conversation or offending the ear with inane talk. They were conservatively scattered about by chance amid the company camps and were always to be relied upon in a crisis.
    Last of all, and to the relief of all, were the company Jonahs—a term as mysterious as referring to one’s mess mates as “pards.” All agreed that the biblical Jonah played no small part in describing the hapless, clumsy individuals that inhabited every camp and wrought destruction upon many a fire. They were neither hated for their obtuse nature nor loved for their innocent carelessness. They were the ones whose intelligence was enough to allow them to pass muster and sign their own names but not enough to keep from making nuisances of themselves. They were the dread of the first sergeants and the bane of their mess mates.
    Robert pulled his attention away from the mesmerizing dance of the flames to catch sight of private Huebner making his way toward them. Instinctively, he reached for his coffee mug and scooted back a foot from the fire. One by one, the others performed similar acts of coffee preservation as their company Jonah innocently stumbled to a halt.
    As if by cue, and as a direct refutation of the old adage that smoke follows beauty, the waft of smoke drifted in Huebner’s direction, causing those standing next to him to clear a path. Choked by the smoke but committed to pouring from the coffee dangling over the flame, Huebner closed his eyes and held his breath. Teetering back and forth with his cheeks puffed out, aim hampered by tightly closed eyes, he poured most of the precious liquid onto the fire. With a billow and a hiss, a white cloud issued forth, causing a fine layer of ash to spread over everyone slow enough not to retreat before disaster struck. Withstanding the chorus of curses, he attempted to gauge the weight of his mucket to know when to stop pouring until his need for breath competed with his desire to get a full dose of “pick-me-up”. Finally, unable to hold his breath longer and having gotten enough into his mucket to satiate his desire, Huebner unsteadily backed away, still clenching his eyes tightly shut and gasping for air. A path had been cleared of obstacles by alert pards so as to minimize Huebner’s chances of making the simple chore of coffee any more event-filled. Once he was clear of the smoke trail and able to breathe normally, he opened his eyes, made a smile of triumph at having beaten the smoke, and took a gulp.
    Robert’s coffee and clothes were covered with a fine layer of ash. The fire, or what was left of it, continued to billow thick white smoke. He used a piece of hard tack to work the ash out of his mucket and continued to sip as if nothing had occurred. Used to the daily fumbling of their Jonah, his pards resumed their own breakfasts.
    “Huebner! You goober-brained Dunkopf!” Hildebrande shouted. “Ach, meine Kaffe ist fertig!” He upended his cup, dumping the ashen liquid to the ground. Following a quick glare in Huebner’s direction, he snatched up his haversack and turned quickly toward the Sibley tent, cursing to himself.
    With the fire prematurely extinguished, the fire watchers slowly dispersed to attend to their traps. The Nervous Nellies had already put their traps on and were huddled in small groups in front of the company street in anticipation of morning formation. Hoisting himself up, Robert felt his knees creak and blood rush back into his feet.
    Huebner stood where he had backed up from the smoke, with a piece of hardtack in his mouth and coffee still steaming in his other hand. An expression of blissful ignorance contorted his face as he mechanically chewed the cracker. Robert felt sorry for the waif, but at the same time felt