her village--Keedysville. We were continuously
approaching heavy cannonading. Indeed, we had been marching for the
past three days within hearing of, and drawing closer to, the artillery
barking of the two armies. Old vets said this meant a big fight within
the next few hours. If so, I thought I shall better know how to diagnose
similar symptoms in the future.

A mile beyond Keedysville we bivouacked for the night, after a hard,
hot, and exciting day's chase. Lieutenant-Colonel Wilcox came into camp
with a great trophy, nothing less than a good old-fashioned fat loaf of
home-made bread. He was immediately voted a niche in the future hall of
fame, for two acts of extraordinary merit, namely, first, finding and
capturing the bread, and, second, bringing it into camp intact, the
latter act being considered supremely self-sacrificing. It was
magnanimously divided by him, and made a supper for three of us. Our
mid-day meal had been made up of dust and excitement.

All sorts of rumors were afloat as to the movements of the enemy, as
well as of our own army. It was said Jackson was across the Potomac with
a large force; that Hooker was engaging him, and that we were likely to
bag the balance of Lee's army soon. One thing I learned, namely, that I
could be sure only of what I saw, and that was very little, indeed, of
the doings of either army. The soldier who professes to know all about
army movements because he "was there," may be set down either as a
bummer, who spent most of his time up trees, safely ensconced where he
could see, or as a fake.

[Illustration: COLONEL VINCENT M. WILCOX]

My diary records a night of good rest September 16, 1862, in this camp
on the Shepherdstown road. The morning was clear, beautiful, and cheery.
This entry will look somewhat remarkable in view of that which
follows, namely, "No breakfast in sight or in prospect." Later one of
our men gave me half his cup of coffee and a couple of small sweet
potatoes, which I roasted and ate without seasoning.

The "ball" opened soon after daylight by a rebel battery, about
three-quarters of a mile away, attempting to shell our lines. Our
division was massed under the shelter of a hill. One of our batteries of
12-pounder brass guns promptly replied, and a beautiful artillery duel
ensued, the first I had ever witnessed at close quarters. Many of us
crept up to the brow of the hill to see the "fun," though we were warned
that we were courting trouble in so