ived in that hospitable home, which was repeatedly made desolate by
the deaths of its gallant sons who fell in battle.

Marshall, the eldest, and lieutenant in artillery, was killed on the
outskirts of Winchester in May, 1862. David, the third son, whom I have
just mentioned, was killed in December of the same year. Strother, the
second son, lost a leg at Chancellorsville and died soon after the war;
and Randolph, the fourth son, captain on the staff of the Stonewall
Brigade, and now a distinguished lawyer in Baltimore, was seven times
wounded, while Robert, a member of our battery, and a gallant soldier,
was the only one of the five brothers in the service who survived the
war unscathed. Our mutual cousin, Robert Barton of the Rockbridge
Cavalry, was shot through the lungs in Early's Valley campaign, and left
within the enemy's lines, where, nursed by his sister, his life hung in
the balance for many days.

After a sojourn of a few days, leave to go home was given me by the
department surgeon, and at four o'clock in the morning, with young
Boiling, Barton and Reid serving as my crutches (on their way to the
Virginia Military Institute), I was put in the stage-coach at the front
door and driven to the hotel, where several Baltimoreans, who were
returning from Northern prisons, got in. One of them was especially
noticeable, as his face was much pitted by smallpox, and with his
Confederate uniform he wore a wide-brimmed straw hat. They were a jolly
set, and enlivened the journey no little. A square or two farther on,
two wounded officers came from a house at which we stopped, and in an
authoritative manner demanded seats inside, all of which were occupied.
They said they were officers in a celebrated command and expected
corresponding consideration. The fellow with the hat told them his party
was just from Fort Delaware, where little distinction was paid to rank,
but if they required exalted positions they ought to get on top of the
coach. The officers said they were wounded and could not climb up. "I
was wounded, too--mortally," came from under the hat. After joking them
sufficiently, the Baltimoreans kindly gave up their seats and mounted to
the top.

[Illustration: R. T. BARTON]

At the towns at which we stopped to change horses, the boys who
collected around were entertained with wonderful stories by our friends
from Baltimore. Just outside of one of these stopping-places we passed
an old gentleman, probably refug