as a little, old, ramshackle
building that served as a railroad depot. Speaking of the railroad, it
extended only from here to Devall's Bluff, a distance of about fifty
miles, and was the only railroad at that time in the State of Arkansas.
The original project of the road contemplated a line from Little Rock
to a point on the Mississippi opposite Memphis. Work was begun on the
western terminus, and the road was completed and in operation as far as
Devall's Bluff before the war, and then the war came along and the work
stopped. Since then the road has been completed as originally planned.
This little old sawed-off railroad was quite a convenience to our army
at the Rock, as it obviated what otherwise would have been the
necessity of hauling our supplies in wagons across the country from
Devall's Bluff. It also frequently came handy for transporting the
troops, and several times saved our regiment, and, of course, others,
from a hot and tiresome march.

For some weeks while in camp at Huntersville, we lived high on several
articles of food not included in the army rations. There were a good
many sheep in the country round about that the military authorities
confiscated, and so we had many a feast on fine, fresh mutton. Corn was
plentiful also, and corn meal was issued to us liberally. Last, but not
least, the rich Arkansas river bottom lands abounded in great big
yellow sweet potatoes that the country people called "yams," and we
just reveled in them to our entire satisfaction.

There was a boy in my company named William Banfield, about the same
age as myself. We had been near neighbors at home, and intimate
friends. Bill was a splendid soldier, seldom sick, and always performed
his soldier duties cheerfully and without grumbling. And Bill was
blessed with a good digestion, and apparently was always hungry. The
place where he would build his cook-fire in this camp was near the
front of my tent, where I had a good view of his operations. I was
lying helpless on my cot, and, like others so situated from time
immemorial, had nothing to do, and scarcely did anything else but watch
the neighbors. Among the cherished possessions of our company was an
old-fashioned cast-iron Dutch oven, of generous proportions, which was
just the dandy for baking mutton. Well, Bill would, in the first place,
get his chunk of mutton, a fine big piece of the saddle, or of a ham,
and put it on to cook in the oven. Then we had another oven, a sma