The mere statement gives no idea of the magnitude of this force, but when I say that it took an entire day to pass our camp, the Cavalry and Infantry in column of fours, some idea may be had of the grandeur of this army. They were moving against Early, for the authorities at Washington had become tired of the harassing raids of the rebels into the north through the Shenandoah, which had almost become “the valley of humiliation” to them. Our brigade was distributed through the length of the train, each company in charge of thirty wagons. The day was pleasant when we started. We marched through Charlestown where they had hung John Brown. The place seemed deserted, the only sign of life being a negro woman peeping at us from a half closed door. We pushed on, we had orders to make Winchester by the next morning, for the army needed supplies. Soon after dark, in spite of warning from the officers, the men began to straggle, dropping out of ranks; some were getting into wagons, others climbing the fences and sleeping in the fields, expecting to overtake their command by morning. My chum, James Ghormley, and myself, after marching until eleven o’clock at night, concluded that we were too tired to go any longer that night, and that a good sleep was just what we needed. We were within two miles of Berryville when this notion entered our heads. When we awoke daylight was just visible, and we hurried on to overtake our Regiment, expecting to boil coffee at the first fire we came to. We walked on and soon came to where the train had “parked,” that is, had encamped for the night, and were just pulling out. It has been said that this stop was made without orders from our officers, but that the rebels, riding along during the night dressed in our uniform, saying they were aids, had given these orders, their object being to cut off the train and attack it for plunder. Our little squad soon came to where a company of the 144th Ohio were cooking breakfast. We asked permission to boil coffee at their fire. This was readily given. We stacked arms, and our coffee had just come to a boil when “bang! bang!” came two artillery shots at us, scattering the limbs of the trees above our heads. These shots were followed by a volley from a clump of woods. Then they charged, yelling as they came. They were Mosby’s Guerrillas, 400 strong, made up of raiders, who disbanded when too hardly pressed and became the innocent farmers of the valley. We grasped our guns, leveled them over the stone wall, gave them one volley, when the Captain in command gave the order to scatter and save ourselves. Well, we ran. In the confusion Ghormley and I became separated and I saw him no more. I was with the most of the company going up a steep lane toward a farm house, about half a mile from the road, passed through a patch of corn and an orchard, and came to the house. A man was sitting on the porch, and he told me to run to the barn. I took his advice. The barn was a mow