ved to
be "a man after me own heart," Martin imparted his grievances. "I tould
him," said he, "I hadn't a cint, but he poured me a tin chuck-full. With
thanks in me eyes I turned off the whole of it, then kindled me pipe and
stood close by the still. Ah! me lad, how the liquor wint through me! In
thray minits I didn't care a domn for all the captins in old Stonewall's
army!"

With various adventures he made his way home, returned to the company of
his own accord, was wounded at Gettysburg, captured, and spent the
remainder of war-time in prison.

Rader, who drove the lead-horses at my gun almost throughout the war, is
mentioned elsewhere, but his record, as well as his pranks and drollery,
coupled with his taciturnity, were interesting. While sitting on his
saddle-horse in one battle he was knocked full length to the ground by a
bursting shell. When those nearby ran to pick him up they asked if he
was much hurt. "No," he said, "I am just skeered to death." At
Sharpsburg, while lying down, holding his gray mares, a shell tore a
trench close alongside of him and hoisted him horizontally into the air.
On recovering his feet he staggered off, completely dazed by the
concussion. In the first battle of Fredericksburg he was struck and
disabled for a time. At Gettysburg, as the same animals, frightened by
a bursting shell, wheeled to run, he seized the bridle of the leader
just as it was struck by a shell, which burst at the moment, instantly
killing the two grays and the two horses next to them, and stunning
Rader as before. But, with all of his close calls, his skin was never
broken. Instead of currying his horses during the time allotted for that
work he seemed to occupy himself teaching them "tricks," but his was the
best-groomed team in the battery.

While on guard one cold night, as the wagon drivers were sleeping
quietly on a bed of loose straw near a blazing fire, I saw Rader creep
up stealthily and apply a torch at several places, wait until it was
well ignited, and then run and yell "Fire!" then repeat the sport an
hour later. Vanpelt carried an enormous knapsack captured from Banks and
branded "10th Maine." While halting on the march it was Rader's
amusement, especially when some outsider was passing by, to set his
whip-stock as a prop under it, go through the motions of grinding, and
rattle off the music of a hand-organ with his mouth until chased away by
his victim. He mysteriously vanished from Rockbridge afte