for my train. We drove into a back street and unhitched the team--the
faithful old mules, Bill and Tom, tied them to the wagon and fed them,
and then walked to the depot. The train came in due season, and stopped
opposite the depot platform, where father and I were standing. We faced
each other, and I said, "Good-bye, father;" he responded, "Good-bye,
Leander, take care of yourself." We shook hands, then he instantly
turned and walked away, and I boarded the train. That was all there was
to it. And yet we both knew more in regard to the dangers and perils
that environ the life of a soldier in time of war than we did on the
occasion of the parting at Jerseyville nearly two years ago--hence we
fully realized that this farewell might be the last. Nor did this
manner spring from indifference, or lack of sensibility; it was simply
the way of the plain unlettered backwoods people of those days. Nearly
thirty-five years later the "whirligig of time" evolved an incident
which clearly brought home to me a vivid idea of what must have been my
father's feelings on this occasion. The Spanish-American war began in
the latter part of April, 1898, and on the 30th of that month, Hubert,
my oldest son, then a lad not quite nineteen years old, enlisted in Co.
A of the 22nd Kansas Infantry, a regiment raised for service in that
war. On May 28th the regiment was sent to Washington, D. C., and was
stationed at Camp Alger, near the city. In the early part of August it
appeared that there was a strong probability that the regiment, with
others at Washington, would soon be sent to Cuba or Porto Rico. I knew
that meant fighting, to say nothing of the camp diseases liable to
prevail in that latitude at that season of the year. So my wife and I
concluded to go to Washington and have a little visit with Hubert
before he left for the seat of war. We arrived at the capital on August
5th, and found the regiment then in camp near the little village of
Clifton, Virginia, about twenty-six miles southwest of Washington. We
had a brief but very enjoyable visit with Hubert, who was given a pass,
and stayed a few days with us in the city. But the time soon came for
us to separate, and on the day of our departure for home Hubert went
with us to the depot of the Baltimore and Ohio railroad, where his
mother and I bade him good-by. Then there came to me, so forcibly, the
recollection of the parting with my father at the Alton depot in
November, 1863, and for the