d equipped. Our cavalry claimed all the spoils, and I heard afterward
most of the credit, too. We got four of the horses, one of which, under
various sergeants and corporals, and by the name of "Fizzle," became
quite a celebrity.

[Illustration: EDWARD A. MOORE

(March, 1862)]

Delighted with our success and gallantry, we again mounted our caissons
and entered the town at a trot. The people had been under Northern rule
for a long time, and were rejoiced to greet their friends. I heard a
very old lady say to a little girl, as we drove by, "Oh, dear! if your
father was just here, to see this!" The young ladies were standing on
the sides of the streets, and, as our guns rattled by, would reach out
to hand us some of the dainties from their baskets; but we had had
plenty, so they could not reach far enough. The excitement over, we went
into camp in a pretty piece of woods two miles below the town and six
from Harper's Ferry. Here we spent several days pleasantly.

Mayor Middleton, of our town, Lexington, had followed us with a
wagon-load of boxes of edibles from home. So many of the company had
been wounded or left behind that the rest of us had a double share.
Gregory's box, which Middleton brought from the railroad, contained a
jar of delicious pickle. I had never relished it before, but camp-life
had created a craving for it that seemed insatiable. The cows of the
neighborhood seemed to have a curiosity to see us, and would stroll
around the camp and stand kindly till a canteen could be filled with
rich milk, which could soon be cooled in a convenient spring. Just
outside of Charlestown lived the Ransons, who had formerly lived near
Lexington and were great friends of my father's family. I called to see
them. Buck, the second son, was then about fifteen and chafing to go
into the army. I took a clean shave with his razor, which he used daily
to encourage his beard and shorten his stay in Jericho. He treated me to
a flowing goblet of champagne and gave me a lead-colored knit jacket,
with a blue border, in which I felt quite fine, and wore through the
rest of the campaign. It was known in the mess as my "Josey." Buck
eventually succeeded in getting in, and now bears the scars of three
saber-cuts on his head.

It was raining the day we broke camp and started toward Winchester, but
our march was enlivened by the addition of a new recruit in the person
of Steve Dandridge. He was about sixteen and had just come from the