Colonel Anderson was the first to cross the stream. His horse plunged in boldly, but was within an ace of being carried away by the still almost resistless current. There goes "Shoemaker," the easy, good-natured "Ned," as he is called. Yes, sure enough, there he does go, for his horse has plunged, and the torrent is too wild, for they are both beyond their depth, and the horse is going down, down. Every eye is bent upon "Shoe." He is carried further and further. He grasps a tree and pulls himself up, looking the picture of despair. The major says, "H-o-l-d, b-o-y-s! d-o-n't b-e i-n t-o-o m-u-c-h h-u-r-r-y;" but they, eager to get back, walked a foot-bridge of rough timber and old logs, very narrow. Several crossed upon this, Captain Russell making a very narrow escape with his life. Colonel Anderson, perceiving the danger, ordered that no more should cross, threatening to shoot the first man who should disobey the order. This, as a matter of course, was done to deter the men from hazarding their lives needlessly. Colonel Anderson had but just given the order, when Frank Guhra, a private in Captain Clark's company, made the attempt, reached the middle of the stream, lost his balance, fell, and in a moment was whirled out of sight, the current running at the rate of twenty miles an hour. Several lost their guns. It was three or four hours before they succeeded in crossing. Upon their return to camp an unwelcome sight was presented; the water had swept nearly every thing away. The tents had been, many of them, three and four feet in water; some had to take to trees to save life. The water had subsided, leaving a nasty slime, a foot thick, all over the camp-ground. Camp-kettles, knapsacks haversacks, and numerous floatable, light articles, had passed down stream--Captain Wilmington losing every thing. I saw the Captain trying to borrow a pair of pantaloons, he running around in his drawers. An old resident of this locality (Mr. Stonnicker) says this is the biggest flood ever known in this region. By the by, Mr. Stonnicker has a beautiful daughter, Miss Delilah, who seems to be fairly "the child of the regiment," especially of the officers. I will not mention names, as the wives at home would be jealous. I see you talk of sending out a gentleman to take money home to the families of the volunteers. But cuss the paymaster, "or any other man." Why don't the paymaster come? Send _me_ some papers. I can't get any without a peck of trouble. CHAPTER XV. The Winter Campaign in Virginia -- Didn't Know of the Rebellion -- General W. H. Litle -- Drilling -- A Black Nightingale's Song. THE WINTER CAMPAIGN IN VIRGINIA.