We had a desperate race to join the fleeing
company, but did so, narrowly escaping capture.

There was a small body of woods on the banks of the river, where we
found shelter for the moment. We were entirely cut off from the fords,
and there was no way of crossing the river but to swim. The banks were
steep on each side, so it looked as if that would be the last of poor
Company Q. We dismounted, got behind the trees, and were ready to give
our tormentors a warm reception, but Providence seemed to smile on us.
Someone discovered a little stream running into the river. We followed
that down into the river, and the whole command swam across and climbed
the banks on the other side, except one man (Milton Robinson) and
myself. Our horses refused to swim. They behaved so ugly that we had to
abandon them. Mine was the same "jade" that had dumped me on the Yankees
a few months before. Now I had a chance to reciprocate. I tied her to a
little sapling at the edge of the river, and Robinson and I hid in the
bushes close by the banks. The Yankees came down and took our horses,
and after searching around for some time, vacated the premises, much to
our gratification.

The loss of our horses grieved us very much, but such is the life of a
soldier.

The company in crossing the river were in the enemy's country, and were
liable to be surrounded and captured at any time, but they made their
escape in some way, and lost no time in getting back to camp, many miles
away.

Robinson and I, of course, had to foot it, but in course of time we also
landed in camp, much to the surprise of our comrades, who thought the
enemy had us. Thus terminated ingloriously the well-planned expedition
of Company Q.

In about ten days the brigade came back from the West Virginia
expedition, and Company Q received the Sixth Regiment with open arms.
Just what the expedition accomplished I am not able to say, but there
is one little incident connected with it that has lingered lovingly in
my memory to this day.

Every mess had in it a forager; that is, one skilled in the art of
picking up delicacies. At least we called them such, as this term was
applied to anything edible above hardtack and salt pork. We had such a
one in our mess, and he was hard to beat. His name was Fauntleroy Neal.
He was a close friend of mine. We called him Faunt.

Whenever he went on an expedition he always came back loaded. As he was
with the brigade in West Virginia, we knew th