te soldiers. The names of two of our party, McCorkle and
McClintic, he said, were too long and that he would call them Cockle and
Flint, but before proceeding further he would give us some music.
Forthwith he produced a short flute, took a seat on the foot of the
stairs (in the far corner of the room), and played "The Devil's Dream,"
"The Arkansas Traveler," etc., beating time with his foot.

Here we passed the night in comfortable beds and, after a bountiful
breakfast, left with a pressing invitation to return for a rabbit-chase
with his hounds, which we gladly accepted and afterward enjoyed. This
was typical of eastern Virginia and her hospitable, whole-souled
"Tuckahoes," whose houses were never too full for them to hail a
passer-by and compel him to come in. This interruption detracted nothing
from the pleasure of the visit for which we had originally set out.

A short time after our return to Frederick's Hall our whole artillery
command narrowly escaped capture by a band of cavalry raiders under
command of Colonel Dahlgren. About fifty of the cannoneers of the
battalion had been furnished with muskets and regularly exercised in the
infantry drill. When the raiders arrived within a mile of our
winter-quarters they inquired of the country people as to the character
of troops occupying our camp, and were informed by some negroes that the
"men had muskets with bayonets on them." As infantry was not what they
were seeking, they gave us the go-by and passed on toward Richmond, the
capture of which was the chief object of the expedition. In the attack
on Richmond, which occurred in the night, Dahlgren was killed and his
command defeated with heavy loss.

Encouraged by the visit already mentioned, I accompanied my friend, Tom
Williamson, on a visit by rail to his relations, the Garnetts, near
Hanover Junction; thence, after spending the night, to some friends in
Caroline County. On our return to camp we found preparations on foot for
a move to the front, and although we left camp by eleven o'clock that
night not more than three or four miles was traveled by daylight. In the
darkness one of our twenty-pounders went over a thirty-foot embankment,
carrying the drivers and eight horses into the mud and water at its
base.

While on the march later in the day, to save distance, I undertook to
pass near a house, in the yard of which were two men with a large
Newfoundland dog. A smaller dog, chained to the corner of the house,