ich our regiment was not engaged. Our
troops burnt Mechanicsburg, and captured about forty of the
Confederates. I was standing by the side of the road when these
prisoners were being taken to the rear. They were all young chaps,
fine, hearty looking fellows, and were the best looking little bunch of
Confederates I saw during the war. Early in the morning of June 6th we
fell into line and marched southwest, in the direction of Vicksburg.
Our route, in the main, was down the valley of the Yazoo river. And it
will be said here that this was the hottest, most exhausting march I
was on during my entire service. In the first place, the weather was
intensely hot. Then the road down the valley on which we marched mostly
ran through immense fields of corn higher than our heads. The fields
next the road were not fenced, and the corn grew close to the beaten
track. Not the faintest breeze was stirring, and the hot, stifling dust
enveloped us like a blanket. Every now and then we would pass a soldier
lying by the side of the road, overcome by the heat and unconscious,
while one or two of his comrades would be standing by him, bathing his
face and chest with water, and trying to revive him. I put green
hickory leaves in my cap, and kept them well saturated with water from
my canteen. The leaves would retain the moisture and keep my head cool,
and when they became stale and withered, would be thrown away, and
fresh ones procured. Several men died on this march from sun-stroke;
none, however, from our regiment, but we all suffered fearfully. And
pure drinking water was very scarce too. It was pitiful to see the men
struggling for water at the farm house wells we occasionally passed. In
their frenzied desperation they would spill much more than they saved,
and ere long would have the well drawn dry. But one redeeming feature
about this march was--we were not hurried. There were frequent halts,
to give the men time to breathe, and on such occasions, if we were
fortunate enough to find a pool of stagnant swamp-water, we would wash
the dirt and dust from our faces and out of our eyes.

As we trudged down the Yazoo valley, we continued to see things that
were new and strange. We passed by fields of growing rice, and I saw
many fig trees, loaded with fruit, but which was yet green. And in the
yards of the most of the farm houses was a profusion of domestic
flowers, such as did not bloom in the north, of wonderful color and
beauty. But, on t