The army had halted at noon for a little rest and dinner. Four of us, comrades, went into the woods in search of berries. Pushing along through the pines we came to a deep valley in which was a little clearing and a small log cabin. A tiny brook flowed down the vale, and the dark pine woods shut in a scene of beauty. It was the home of a negro family, who were all out in front, listening to the banjo played by one of our colored teamsters. He was a fat, oily, good natured fellow, black as ink. Seated on a stump with his eyes rolling in ecstacy and a broad grin showing his ivory teeth, he was an example of the happy, carefree contraband of those days. After listening awhile we passed on and after getting some blackberries we returned the same way. The family were seated at dinner and when we looked in, saw the white table cloth and the dishes, with the family and the banjo player seated around the table, eating, our mouths watered and we wished we could sit with them. Thoughts of home and of our friends, at their tables in the distant north, filled our minds as we made our way back to the dusty turnpike and again took up the weary march. This scene was an oasis in our desert of dust, and its memory is pleasant. THE NEGROES While marching one hot, dusty day, a little negro boy, about ten years of age, came out from a farm house and walked along with us, on his road to freedom. After marching awhile he became very thirsty and appealed from one soldier to another for a drink of water. He was refused by several but his thirst increased and he became desperate. Rolling his eyes in agony, with the tears streaming down his cheeks, he exclaimed, “Please sir! for the love of God, Massa, give dis heah poor nigga a drink of water.” We could not withstand such an appeal so we gave him a drink from our canteen. I suppose he became tired and went back home where there was plenty of water, at least we heard no more of him. We did not see many negroes during our service. They hid away when the army passed. Occasionally we would catch a glimpse of a colored woman peeping from a door or window grinning at us. Two boys came back with us from Virginia. By passing as body servants we brought them through to Chillicothe. One was a black, ignorant fellow, by the name of Henry. He was about town for several years, employed as a hosler. The other was a bright mulatto, intelligent in conversation, but unable to read or write. He was anxious to get an education. We afterward heard of him as a school teacher near Chillicothe.