August 20th, six companies of the 17th went to Swift Creek, again, accompanied by a section of the New York Marine Artillery and four boat howitzers. Lt. Col. Fellows, who was in command of the expedition, having missed the boat that conveyed the reg't and artillery across the river, the command devolved upon the Major, who marched them about a mile from the landing, and halted to await the Colonel's coming. The column halted opposite a dwelling, and, as is often the case under like circumstances, there was a rush for the well to fill canteens. Two of the men, however, strayed into a field and were making a flank movement upon a pile of tumble-down log outbuildings, supposed to abound in hens, chickens, eggs, &c. One of these men, a very tall and large specimen of humanity was named Gilman; the other was a small man, and, for my purpose, nameless. The vigilant Major detected this unauthorized flanking affair, and, being determined to put a stop to all such unmilitary proceedings, sung out: "Vat for you shtray off dat way? Come back, I say to you! Dou-bel _twit_!" (quick) The little man obeyed, and came back at a dog-trot. Gilman, however, hastened back slowly--at much too slow a gait to suit his impatient superior, who yelled out again: "Dou-bel twit!--I say--dou-_bel_ TWIT!" But no faster came Gilman on, and the Major (who was a little man) rushed to him, and seizing him by the coat collar as he was crossing a fence, dragged him over,--then, drawing his sword and flourishing it about the head of the still doggedly defiant Gilman, exclaimed: "You tink, because I am small, I'm be afraid of you? I will let you know! Dou-bel twit! now, or I will make two Gilman of you!" There was a man called Tom Croke in Co. E--an extremely hard ticket--quarrelsome, venomous, and altogether thoroughly depraved. He had been a source of trouble and annoyance to the officers of the company ever since he came into it. On this expedition, I believe, he shot the top of one of his fingers off--an accident, as he told the captain (McNamara)-- "Devil d--n you," replied the latter, "it's a pity it wasn't your head!" Tom Croke, for this or some other misdemeanor, was subsequently court-martialed and sent to Fort Macon to serve out his time, from which place he escaped to the rebels. On his way from the Fort to rebeldom he met a deserter coming into our lines, whom he directed as to the best route to pursue, and who in turn gave him such information as he desired to facilitate his escape. When the expedition arrived at the bridge over Swift Creek it was evening. Our cavalry, which had preceded them, were bivouacked for the night on the other side, and our men at first took them to be rebels, but were soon undeceived.