The times. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1890-1903, 1893-04-09

FIRE.
and the incidents came home 10 me-the
clear. frosty morning on which we set
out: the %strangeness Of the new country
into which our road led but six miles from
home: the delight of the midday meal by
the side Of the fire built in the fence cor
ner: then mud. mud. mud; then the evil
dences that we were approaching the seat
Of war: struggling soldiers afoot or on
horseback: fence rows without fences
roads cut into the fields; wagons ambu-
lances: then more mud, deeper mud, bot
tomless mud. in which our horses,
splashed to their eartips, tugged and
toiled. We crossed the little tributary
streams. the Mat. the Ia, the Po ana
the Nj. which. flowing together, make the
NIattaponi: and following the road, along
which. as l remember, our uncle told us
he and my mother used to be sent In the
carriage TO school up in the valley when
they we're children Just our age, we soon
arrived on the outskirts Of the great army,
which for two days had been battling Tor
the salvation Of the South.
How wildly il all came TO me- and yet
comes. and how different from what had
pictured it. First Of all, mud; mud every
where. then small encampments scat
tered about in the woods and by the SIDES
Of the roads the camp fires burning
nTlEHllN. lN'I AAANAt NAAAAI A+N'f 1890
darkness settled down camp fires every
where lighting up the horizon with their
glow till il looked as II day were break
ing. We were in search Of the head
quarters Of the chief of the artillery.
Every one knew just where they were,
hut all dinered-one said it was just a
mile 10 the left on a hill. the next was
sure it was ten miles 10 the right IN a
bottom. At length we found 1t neither
10 the right nor left. but straight ahead
some five miles not far from the road.
I remember the scene as we drove up
We were now in the heart Of the army
and could scarcely get through for the
camps. camp equipage and camp fires.
One thing struck me forcibly-the amount
of praving that was going on. Time and
time again we passed fires around which
a PRAYER meeting was going on. At one
a gray bearded man was preaching or
speakiDg earnestly TO an attentive au-
dience; at another a young fellow was
reading aloud from a little BlDie;
AT another. one neither old nor young,
was kneeling. offering up a prayer which
was certainly not lacking in ierVor anna
a group on whose bowed head the flames
were throwing a rich glow, while the as
tant sounds of hymns came from the Nils
above. II was a solemn time. There was
not a regiment OF bdNNoii'A IL"
I'm the last two days battles lost dearly
priced comrades and none knew what MS
fate might be next day.
When we reached my uncle's camp
though my father was a half mile further
on was too tired TO wait longer. All !
recall is the blue light OF the camp fire
and a general greeting from smiling faces,
some of which / knew and some OF when
were unknown to me, and when l became
conscious again it was next morning, ana
I was in my uncle's cot, and he was just
rising from his blanket on the floor of the
cent. which was of split oak sapplings.
The next day we rode over the battle
fields in company with my uncle and his
staff while the dead were being buried
under a flag Of truce. / recall. however,
that while we were at breakfast the re-
ports Of two cannons following each other
in rapid succession came booming from
toward the town, and after a brief dis
cussion as 70 what it might mean my
uncle ordered a young staff officer to ride
at once and see what it was. He had just
sat down to breakfast, which was a
good one. for we had brought up boxes
the day before, but he rose Immediately
and in a minute was off at full gallop.
He is now the right reverend bishop of
West virginia, but l always think Of him
as he galloped away so bravely In uni
form that morning. When he returned
he reported that Burnside was taking up
his pontoons. ! shall never forget our
ride that day. and the picture of the
battlefield and the town is one which /
shall never lose; the road filled with