the
trophy, "Colonel, just look at this. I was lying right _here_, and it
fell right _there_." This brigade had no occasion to test its mettle
until the following spring, but then, in the great battle of
Spottsylvania, it fought gallantly and lost its general--Gary--who was
killed.

Naturally, after such a determined advance on the part of the Federals,
a general attack was expected; but, after spending two days threatening
different portions of our lines, they withdrew in the night, leaving
only men sufficient to keep their camp-fires burning for a time, as a
ruse. The road along which we followed them for some miles was strewn at
intervals with feathers from the beds of the people whose houses they
had ransacked.

It was now October, and the chilly autumn nights suggested retiring to
more comfortable surroundings. Our battalion of artillery was ordered
to Frederick's Hall, on the Chesapeake and Ohio Railroad, about fifty
miles from Richmond. In this neighborhood there were quite a number of
nice people, whose society and hospitality afforded those of us so
inclined much agreeable entertainment. A white paper-collar became no
unusual sight, but when two of our members appeared one afternoon
adorned with blue cravats a sensation was created.

A member of our battery returned from a visit to a family of former
acquaintances some twelve miles from camp, and brought an invitation for
some of his friends to accompany him on his next visit. Soon thereafter
four of us went, through a drizzling rain, I riding a blind horse, the
others on foot. Night overtook us soon after leaving camp, and when,
within a mile of our destination, we asked at a house by the roadside
for directions as to the way, a gruff voice informed us that an
intervening creek was too high to cross, and insisted on our coming in
and spending the night. We declined this, and the man said, "Well, I'll
send a negro boy with you; but you'll have to come back," which proved
to be the case. On our return we were boisterously welcomed. A blazing
fire of dry pine soon lit up the room, with its clean, bare floor, and
disclosed the figure of our host--Peter Johnson by name--a stout, burly
man, clad in homespun and a fur cap. He said his wife and children had
been "a-bed" since dark, were tired of his jokes, and that he was
delighted to have a fresh audience; that it was past supper-time and
some hours before breakfast, but that fasting was nothing new to
Confedera