the time to release them in the ordinary way,
but whipped out his jack-knife and cut them as he ran. I did not see
this personally, but was told it by boys who did. We saw no more of Sam
until after the battle, when he sneaked into camp, with a fantastic
story of getting separated from the regiment in a fall-back movement,
that he then joined another, fought both days, and performed prodigies
of valor. But there were too many that saw the manner of his alleged
"separation" for his story ever to be believed.

I will now return to the Bolivar incident. While the Confederates were
operating in the vicinity of this place, as above mentioned, the "fall
in" call was sounded one evening after dark, and the regiment promptly
formed in line on the parade ground. We remained there an hour or so,
when finally the command was given to stack arms, and the men were
dismissed with orders to hold themselves in readiness to form in line,
on the parade grounds, at a moment's warning. As I was walking back to
our company quarters, Sam Cobb stepped up to me and took me to one
side, under the shadow of a tall oak tree. It was a bright moonlight
night, with some big, fleecy clouds in the sky. "Stillwell," asked Sam,
"do you think we are going to have a fight?" "I don't know, Sam," I
answered, "but it looks very much like it. I reckon Gen. Ross is not
going out to hunt a fight; he prefers to stay here, protect the
government stores, and fight on the defensive. If our cavalry can stand
the Rebs off, then maybe they will let us alone,--but if our cavalry
are driven in, then look out." Sam held his head down, and said
nothing. As above stated, he was a grown man, and I was only a boy, but
the thing that was troubling him was apparent from his demeanor, and I
felt sorry for him. I laid a hand kindly on his shoulder, and said,
"And Sam, if we should have a fight, now try, old fellow, and do better
than you did before." He looked up quickly--at that instant the moon
passed from behind a big cloud and shone through a rift in the branches
of the tree, full in his face, which was as pale as death, and he said,
in a broken voice: "Stillwell, I'll run; I just know I'll run,--by God,
I can't help it!" I deeply pitied the poor fellow, and talked to him a
few minutes, in the kindest manner possible, trying to reason him out
of that sort of a feeling. But his case was hopeless. He was a genial,
kind-hearted man, but simply a constitutional coward, and he do