eral weeks, till able to get out of bed and dress without help, when I was sent with a squad of equally able-bodied men, to the regiment. I was unable to walk, and rode in an ambulance to the picket line, and thus reported to my company officers, who immediately sent me to the "field hospital," near Stone river. I was suffering very severely with diarrhoea. After enduring the misery of this hospital about two weeks, I concluded I could get along as well at the regiment, so I took "French leave" and joined my regiment near Murfreesboro. Unfit for duty, I was placed in the regimental hospital. The diarrhoea troubling me badly, I made up my foolish mind to physic my interior arrangements; so I prescribed for myself, and took a heroic dose of salts. The next day, as luck would have it, the troops moved back to Laverne. I was furnished with a horse and rode to that place, some fifteen miles. The day was a blistering one and the dust very deep, surrounding us like a cloud. My heroic dose kept me mounting and dismounting, and I suffered for water. I offered a darkey boy who carried a canteen of water for an officer, fifty cents for a drink; he refused, but after seeing my sick condition, gave me a drink, refusing the pay. The water, though warm, refreshed me. The troops remained at Laverne a few days, when there was a forward movement, and I was placed in an ambulance and taken to the field hospital, Murfreesboro. In a few days, was sent back to

Nashville to the general hospital. This was in June and part of July, 1863. I remained under treatment several weeks. The surgeon in charge would reply to my request to go to my regiment, "Let me see your arm." I would bare my arm and present it for inspection; it was about as large as a good-sized turkey leg. He would say, "You can't swing a sabre with that arm." He finally consented, about the middle of July, to let me go to my regiment at Shelbyville. Here we remained encamped, doing reconnoitering and picket duties till after the Battles of Mission Ridge, Lookout Mountain, and Chickamauga. My health improved slowly, and although I performed duty, it was painful and exhausting. We were not in the Chickamauga battles, but in sound of the guns. While it was in progress, I was sent with a detail of twenty men and an officer back to Bridgeport. We had to swim our horses across the" Big Sequatchie." It had been raining, and the river was booming. We took three days' rations of hardtack, and an appetite. At Bridgeport, a regiment was breaking camp, and we were glad to get some of the salt pork they were throwing away. We returned to camp in four days and then one battalion of four companies, including mine, went to the Sequatchie valley, where we scouted and picketed. Our scouting was very exciting and dangerous. Our supplies were short, and we were reduced to living principally on corn-meal. soon moved to Chickamauga, and

We

lived on shorter rations than at Sequatchie, for there we had plenty of corn for horses and men, but here little, and our horses suffered especially. I think that at least half of them starved to death. We remained here nearly two months, with nothing to do except to keep alive. The day that the first train came in with provisions, our regiment, or what was left of it, marched to Bridgeport, leading those horses which were able to walk, and turned them over to the quartermaster. We proceeded to Laverne, where we were remounted and newly equipped with the same kind of arms. We were then ordered to Ringold, Ga., General Kilpatrick was in charge of our division; General Smith D. Atkins commanded our brigade, which was the Second, of the Third Cavalry division. Shortly after our arrival, General Kilpatrick took two companies of our regiment and drove in the rebel pickets. In a few days, the whole regiment proceeded toward Ringold till we could plainly see the breastworks. The general formed us in line to charge, first at a fast walk, then trot, then halt; he was evidently trying our mettle. We did not charge, but returned to camp. While here, I slowly recovered my strength. My bunk-mate was Jack Shepard of Sandusky; he endeavored to keep my spirits up, and was a good friend. At this camp were two recruits who were half-brothers, "Andy and John "; John was homesick, he was an old bachelor; he would say, “Andy, I'm going

to die," and Andy would drawl out,— he was a young boy,-“ Die and be damned, how can I help it?" John din n't die. While here, I was promoted to corporal. Our next move as a brigade was "On to Resaca." Our regiment was in advance. A detail of four men, including myself, was ordered by General Kilpatrick to move on in front of the brigade till we reached the rebel videttes, then to fire at them and either charge or wait till the regiment came up, who were ordered to immediately charge down the road as soon as they heard our shots. The plan was carried out. After we sighted the pickets we fired, and charged upon them, and they fell back to their reserve rapidly. The brigade followed closely and soon received a hot fire on the left flank. General Kilpatrick was wounded at this time. We drove them across a field and into the woods, when they rallied and drove back our skirmishers, killing a few and capturing some. The first shelling I was under was here.

This engagement was the commencement of the Battle of Resaca. Of the four ordered in advance, the only damage was, that one horse was shot through the nose. It was a pretty hot place for a while. During the day, while in company line, a spent ball struck Ed. Slater on the leather gun sling across his breast and made him very sick for a while, and off duty for several days. After this battle, pushing on toward Atlanta, we reached

Cartersville, and soon

after, the whole brigade went some fifty miles to a place called Frogtown, across the Eltiwa river. While on this scout, we captured and I think hung, three bushwackers. We were gone three or four days and returned to Cartersville.

The next morning, Captain Platt, Lieutenant Bolum and twenty men, I among them, returned to the same place, Frogtown, ostensibly for buried money. We arrived there about sunset and went into camp in a farm-house lane off the main road, the lane ending at sixty yards in a deep gulch or ravine and thick brush. We tied our horses to the fence, took off saddles and bridles and made ourselves comfortable, putting out videttes in the road on each side of the lane. The night passed quietly. A negro told Captain Platt where a mule was hidden near-by and George Slackford and I were told to go with him and get it. We started at daylight, and when we returned, which was in about half an hour, the saddles were on the horses but not clinched. We threw our saddles on our horses and I was in the act of mounting, when the rebels came rushing down the road, following our pickets in and shooting at men and horses. Our men scattered, jumped the fence and ran into the brush. The officer in charge of the rebels was killed. He was within twenty feet of me; I had my revolver out by this time and was using it. I heard him call to some one to surrender,

and then shot, I think it was at Shackford. I had a six-shooter and used it three times on the officer; I was somewhat excited and don't know whether I hit him or not. Lieutenant Bolum and two men were captured; I escaped to the brush, and there found two of our men. They heard the rebels cry to rally and thought it was Captain Platt calling; when told it was the rebels, one left me instantly and returned to camp that night, finding a horse and riding it in. other stayed with me. I have forgotten his name; he was a recruit and very much rattled. We were across the gulch and up the bank high enough to see the rebels easily, while we were hidden from view. They were regarding the dead officer and soon deployed through the woods to look for "Yanks."

The

When I saw them start, we ran down the hill, crossed the brook and lay down in the thick brush till they passed; then we went in the opposite direction till we came to a bridge, where I saw two rebs posted on the watch. We waited our opportunity and slipped across the road into a cornfield, and kept quiet till the rebels returned from their hunt for us, and soon after they left for their own camp.

My companion was too much excited to know what to do and I took the lead. Our first effort was to find the ford, cross the river, and get back to Cartersville. We went to a house and inquired the way; a man told us correctly, but I was

too suspicious to believe him and went to another house where I saw a man sitting in the doorway reading a book; I called to him and he came to the road, and, after a little conversation, said that if he had known any Yankees were in the lane where we were surprised, he could have warned us. He was a Union man; his name was John was John Howard. He wanted us to stay with him till he could make arrangements to go with us to Cartersville as refugees. He took us out to where his father and two brothers were hiding in the woods away from the conscript officers. One of the boys was a deserter from the rebel army. The old man seemed to be seventy years old.

We stayed in the woods at this hiding-place till the next day at night, the woman bringing us something to eat, corn bread and string beans. I think the woman was the old man's niece; their names were Howard, and John was the leader of his party; he was married; we started for Cartersville at night and should have crossed the river, but were persuaded by the old man not to do so, as he thought he could take us through all right. We had a little corn bread in our pockets and traveled all night; it was as dark as pitch. We crossed a small stream on a foot log without seeing stream or log.

After daylight, we passed a big plantation where several men were sitting on a porch; as soon as we

passed, they came after us, and we put into a cornfield and got down to the river, when I wanted to make a raft and cross, but they were frightened and wanted to go back home and take another start, and persuaded me, till I agreed to stay with them, although I thought that the proper way was to cross the river to the Cartersville side, and where our troops were.

We were now out of food; we stayed in the wood all night; it began to rain in the morning and poured all day. The Howards seemed to have lost their bearings, and John started to hunt up the proper way; we did not see him again till we got back to his place, as he could not find us afterward. Toward evening, we came into the main road, called the Atlanta road; it was still raining. We had just got into it when we heard whooping behind us, and here came three rebels mounted. They rode up and said "A pretty wet day, boys,” we replied "yes," and they went on. We then being somewhat alarmed, left the main road and kept in the woods, keeping the direction towards Howard's. This was late in the afternoon; at dark we sat down under a tree. It rained torrents and was pitch dark. We were all soaked through. I passed a miserable night, cold to shivering, hungry and tired.

At daylight, the youngest Howard boy went to a house and played rebel; got some breakfast, stole a piece of bread, and returned to our hiding place in the brush,

and divided with his father and my comrade, they being the worst used up. We traveled all day, till an hour or two before sunset; the day was pleasant and it was Sunday.

This day we chewed the young corn, no corn having yet formed, and we also had a few green apples; this was all we had to eat for sixtyfive hours. A hour or so before sunset, the Howard who had been a rebel soldier, recognized the neighborhood, said he had "sparked all over it" in former years, and proposed that we wait till dark, and he would take us in a straight line to his sister-in-law, she being a rebel soldier's widow. We did so, and arrived there at about eleven o'clock that night. She recognized the situation and made us welcome. From a trap door in the floor of the house she pulled out a chicken; it was soon killed and cooking, with corn bread and rye coffee, upon which we feasted. The Howards then started for their home, and myself and comrade were shown to a granary and locked in. hostess, although a rebel soldier's widow, sympathized with her father's Union sentiments. The granary was built very roughly,

Our

and the cracks in the walls were so large that any one could see us from the outside. In the building were some large grain boxes, into which we got and went to sleep. In the morning, Mrs. Howard gave us some of her husband's clothes to put on while she washed ours. The first day we were there, some men

came to get the grindstone. She came to our quarters, took it out, locked us up again, while we laid low in the grain box. Two girls came to see Mrs. Howard, and noticed my companion through the cracks in the house, and to satisfy them were told that we were her nephews, who were trying to get home from the rebel army to see the folks. I was here about two days, and, John Howard returning, we resolved to get some horses and ride to Cartersville. My comrade. decided to remain where he was, and he reached the regiment in about a month all right. We explored this neighborhood several days, trying to find horses. We finally found one in the woods, chained to a tree and padlocked. Howard left me then, and went to meet a darky, who was to have a horse or mule for him. I waited till after dark and then tried to break the lock. I pounded it to a shapeless mass, but could not get the horse free.

I then struck out for Howard's according to his directions, but missed my way and found myself back at Frogtown. Dogs began to bark and follow me to the number

of five or six, and as they were close at my heels, I plunged into a negro shanty for safety. I found here six or more darkies, men and women. One had just left Wheeler's army and said that he would be there the next day, or the day following. I told them I wanted to find John Howard's, and one of them went and showed me the way.