Young Mr. Carter H. Harrison, of Staunton, was then a cadet, and, with several others, put his trunk at Professor Campbell's to save it. When the battle was over at Lynchburg and Hunter was gone, the cadets were not put in the chasing column, but were relieved from further active duty. Mr. Harrison, with others of the corps, went to the battle-field, and during his inspection visited the field hospital where the wounded of the enemy were being cared for by our surgeons. He noticed one man who was badly wounded in the leg, and whose pantaloons were ripped up that the surgeon might more easily dress the wound. As Harrison looked at the soldier he observed his own initials on his socks, and upon further investigation discovered that all the man's underclothes were similarly marked and all belonged to him, and were a part of those he had left in his trunk at Professor Campbell's. The man confessed that they had looted Professor Campbell's house, and that the underwear was part of the booty. Arrangements were made by which possession followed the legal title. It is needless to attempt to describe the anxiety of the citizens as Hunter approached, heralded by the accounts of his vandalism at Lexington and on his march. Until their nerves were restored by the arrival of Breckinridge's little army of some fifteen hundred men and the guns of Berkeley and W.S. Lurty's battery, every woman and non-combatant was actively engaged in hiding silver, jewels, provisions and other valuables--generally putting them in the very place where skilled looters would be sure to go in search. Many things were put away at that time which have never been found since, and never will be. The anxiety of the hiders so affected their memory that the place of hiding was forgotten. As soon as hope was restored by the appearance of additional troops, the energies of the women were directed to the effort of giving food to the hungry and travel-worn troops whose arrival had brought them so much comfort. While the cannon were booming over the hills of the suburbs and the fierce rattle of contending musketry could be heard, our women were bending over the fires cooking rations for the men in the lines, or scraping lint and rolling bandages for the wounded. The first ray of hope restored confidence, and the inhabitants of Londondery or Leyden were not more calm or heroic, or more actively engaged in doing all in their power for defence, than were these women and the old men, who were the only other inhabitants of the city left.