“In the woods back up the turnpike about a mile.” “This is a nice way to treat American soldiers!” exclaimed a corporal, who had left both his boots in the mud in the plowed field. “I can't run through blackberry brush barefooted!” “I'm going to camp here till they bring back my horse and something to eat. I didn't enlist to caper around on foot in such a place as this,” said another. I volunteered to take the sergeant's steed and go and see that the horses were sent to meet us, but at that moment there was heard the noise of the rebel cavalry coming in on our flank crashing through the bushes. “You couldn't manage my horse--he's so fiery,” said the sergeant. “I can't hold him when he takes it into his head to go where the other horses are.” Away went the sergeant and the two men who had been left with him, on a gallop up the road. “Follow me!” shouted the sergeant, as he put spurs to his charger. We followed. As the sergeant and his two companions turned a bend in the road, rebel cavalrymen, who had penetrated the jungle almost to the turnpike, opened fire on the three troopers. It was a race for life. The bullets whistled close to the ears of the Federals as they dashed by the Johnnies in ambush. Then the saddle girth of one of the privates gave way, and the terrified trooper was left sitting on his saddle in the middle of the road, his horse going on with the procession. He shouted, “Whoa!” The “rebel yell” went up as the Yankee went down. It stimulated him to the greatest effort of his life. Springing to his feet he held the saddle between his head and the Confederates to shield off their bullets, and darted into the bushes to the left of the turnpike. As he reached the thicket he threw the saddle back into the road and shouted defiantly at his would-be executioners: “Take the old saddle, you infernal asses. I've got no use for it without a horse!” Then he bounded away through the forest, keeping well to the left of the road. He was a pitiable sight when he rejoined the company that night. His clothes were literally torn off. He would not have been presentable at all if an artilleryman had not given him a spare shirt. It may be stated that several others reported to their company commander in about the same fix. Some of us had taken such a deep interest in what was going on up the turnpike, that we almost forgot the rebels who were looking for us. I remember that I laughed, tired and concerned for my own safety though I was. The ludicrous figure cut by our comrade as he glanced around him when he landed in the road and yelled “Whoa!”--as if a runaway horse would stop under such circumstances--was too much for my risibility. But I did not have my laugh out. It was interrupted by one of our sergeants shouting: “Streak it, boys--here they come!”