It was nine o’clock at night on a beautiful summer night. The moon shone brightly through the dark pines on the mountains, and glistened across the guns of the great army that marched down the turnpike into old Charlestown. The men were weary and foot sore from their long marches and were swinging along carelessly. Suddenly someone started singing “John Brown’s body lies a moldering in the tomb.” Companies, Regiments and Corps took up the refrain, tired bodies straightened up, and took step to the music. The grand chorus rang out “Glory, glory hallelujah” until the mountains gave back the echo “Glory, glory hallelujah” as though the hosts of Heaven were joining in the refrain “His soul is marching on.” It was the song of triumph, and if the spirits of the departed know of things on earth surely the shade of old John Brown was gratified. Here he was hung, and in the graveyard his body was lying “Moldering in the tomb,” but his soul was marching on in the ranks of the thirty thousand soldiers who on that night marched through Charlestown keeping step to the grand chorus, “Glory, glory hallelujah.” We marched on and went into camp on Bolivar Heights, near Harper’s Perry. Here we were joined by John Cook and Jeff Martin of Co. A, who had been captured by Mosby but escaped the same day. They told us the story of the capture, how the others had been taken south and they had escaped. Mosby’s men after gaining the shelter of the mountains began to examine their plunder and stopped to array themselves in new Union officers’ uniforms. They were marching over a steep mountain road, guarding prisoners, when a portion of them stopped, while those in front passed on out of sight. This left the road clear without a guard in sight. The two boys took advantage of the opportunity and made a break for liberty. Down the mountain side they ran, stumbling and falling, but straining every nerve for freedom. They were not missed apparently, for the rebels did not pursue them. For three days they wandered through the mountains, only approaching the negro cabins by night, where they always found friends ready to feed them and help them on their way. Finally they reached Harper’s Ferry and waited until we came up. The two Regiments lay in Camp on Bolivar Heights for five days. The time of our enlistment had expired ten days before and now we were a waiting orders for returning to Ohio. We had served nearly four months and were anxious to get back home. When Gen. Sheridan read the application for our discharge he paid us the greatest compliment we had in our experience. He said “I did not know that I had any hundred days men in my army, they are all veterans.”