Quite an exciting scene occurred one afternoon, occasioned by one of the many rumors constantly afloat in the army. All was usually quiet, no apprehension of immediate danger or sign of “a move,” when suddenly we were startled by an order for the regiment to be ready to move at a moment’s notice, as it was reported that the rebels had crossed the Rapidan, driven in our pickets, and were already engaged with the cavalry. Presently the order to “advance” is received. Then comes the hasty preparations; well-filled cartridge-boxes are buckled on, muskets shouldered, and the order, “fall in,” quietly obeyed. Very soon they are all drawn up in line of battle on the ridge of a high hill in front of our camp; batteries are placed in position, and everything in readiness to give the “chivalry” a cordial greeting. Things really looked like a fight; but before sundown all were quietly withdrawn and returned to their old quarters without even getting a sight of a rebel. As they came filing into camp, some felt provoked, and all disappointed, for they had hoped to have a “brush”--as they called it--with the enemy. To use their own words, they were “spoiling for a fight.” The inactivity of camp life while in winter quarters was one prolific source of demoralization in the army. The true cause of the alarm was soon ascertained. A few rebels _did_ cross the river and drive in some of our pickets, but they were soon driven back and compelled to re-cross. For a few days this furnished the topic of conversation, and then something new came up; and when nothing new happened, the “boys” would improvise something. Toward the last of March I expected Mrs. Thompson, formerly of Ionia, Michigan, to make me a visit and bring a new supply of hospital stores. But I looked in vain. The goods at length came, but she was not with them, as she could not obtain a pass. I was so greatly disappointed that for a while time seemed to pass more slowly; my evenings were unusually lonely. The evening tattoo and morning reveille, and the warriors’ calls of the drum, to which I had ever listened with pleasure, now seemed only to mock my loneliness. I tried to be reconciled, but never could fully. I was obliged to adopt the language of the old adage, “What can’t be cured must be endured.” Toward the middle of April I began to feel somewhat anxious to return to Washington, as all non-combatants were ordered to leave the army. General Grant had arrived and taken command in person, and the work of re-organizing commenced. The sick were being sent away as fast as possible, and everything indicated a speedy move. However, I remained until I had disposed of the new supply of goods.