that army was made of.
There was a boy in our company by the name of Harding Witt. Harding was a
Dana boy. I had known him a long time and I knew him well. We had been
school companions and had enjoyed fishing excursions together many a time.

Harding was on the picket line at the time of the fight in the wood and so
was absent from the company. But late at night after the fight was all
over I heard he had been wounded. I heard nothing more and saw nothing of
him until the next day when halted in the road on our way back to
Alexandria, I saw some one approaching. He had no gun and no knapsack; he
had a canteen, his right sleeve was slit up and I could see a white
bandage on the arm. The same could be seen on one of his legs. The
trouser's leg was slit up and a bandage could be seen on the leg. He also
had a bandage on his head. As he approached nearer I recognized Harding.
He came up and as we shook hands I said to him: "Well, Harding, they
called for you last night." "Yes, Mad," said he, "they called for me five
times but I am all right." That boy had been hit five times, in the wood
the night before, but he wasn't taken prisoner nor was he in the hospital.
He was, however, obliged to go to the hospital later.

We moved back to the vicinity of Alexandria and went into camp where we
stayed until September 4th. During those days a number of the boys found
their way back to the regiment. They had strayed away after the fight,
some of them perhaps, making as famous runs as were made by some of the
soldiers after the first Battle of Bull Run.

Among those to return at that time was our beloved surgeon, Dr. Cutter.
Imagine our surprise and delight one afternoon on seeing him march into
camp. When the Confederates were ready to move on, he was set at liberty
and had made his way back to Alexandria where we were in camp. To us, he
seemed to have risen from the dead. The officers of the first brigade had
reported him among the killed, and that report had been accepted by the
men of the regiment, and to see the old hero again so unexpectedly,
startled us.

If I remember rightly, it was in this campaign, as we were falling back
along the east side of the Rappahannock River, I first noticed a colored
man, we later called Jeff Davis, hanging around the cook's quarters trying
to make himself useful. He would gather wood for the cook's fire, tote the
water, and on the march help carry the cooking utensils. In due time it
was disco