rgely by their sacrifices, as beggars,
because they ask to be remunerated for their shattered health, by a small
pittance of ten or twelve dollars a month, to assist them in their old age
and decrepitude.

On the morning of the 20th of February, 1865, the last ration of corn
bread was issued, and I determined to preserve mine and bring it home to
show to my friends. This I did, and have kept it ever since. It was
twenty-three years old the 20th of February, 1888, and is still in a fair
state of preservation, and on every anniversary of its issue to me, that
old Libby prison ration and I have a little celebration, and revive old
memories.

We were placed on board river steamers, which were skillfully piloted
around the numerous torpedoes that had been sunk for the destruction of
our gun-boats, should they attempt to assist in the capture of Richmond,
and past the iron-clad monsters that were stationed all along for the
protection of that rebel stronghold, and were conveyed to Varina landing,
where, as we disembarked, we were met by an equal number of rebs who had
been prisoners in our hands, and who returned on the same boats that took
us down.

The contrast in the looks and appearances of these gray-backs and our poor
boys, was painfully apparent. They were in robust health, full of life and
vitality, and fit to at once take the field again, while our boys were
scarcely able, many of them, to climb up the bank at the landing, without
assistance. While they showed the effects of rest and plenty of wholesome
food, our poor comrades showed equally the terrible effects of starvation
and disease. They were in excellent condition to again at once go into
active service, while we would need months of careful nursing, before any
of us could again endure the hardships of camp life; and a large
proportion, were forever broken in health, and would never again be able
to perform the duties of a soldier.

We still had a march of six miles to make, before we reached the Union
lines. Ambulances were in waiting, to convey those who were too feeble to
endure the march, and the rest of us who had strength enough left, trudged
along on foot.

CHAPTER XXVII.

The march from the landing to the headquarters of General John E. Mulford,
was through a swampy piece of ground and the road was muddy, but, with
freedom almost in sight, we tramped along cheerfully, with buoyant steps
and hopeful hearts, singing snatches of army songs,