On this day, January 11th, the troops took possession of Prestonburg, and the remaining duties of the campaign were only the working out in detail of results already secured. As to the merits of the decisive little fight at Middle Creek, Garfield said at a later time: “It was a very rash and imprudent affair on my part. If I had been an officer of more experience, I probably should not have made the attack. As it was, having gone into the army with the notion that fighting was our business, I didn’t know any better.” And Judge Clark, of the Forty-second Ohio, adds: “And during it all, Garfield was the soldiers’ friend. Such was his affection for the men that he would divide his last rations with them, and nobody ever found any thing better at head-quarters than the rest got.” Indeed, there was one occasion, I believe just after this engagement, when the Eighteenth Brigade owed to its brave commander its possession of any thing at all to eat. The roads had become impassable, rations were growing scarce, and the Big Sandy, on which they relied, was so high that nothing could be brought up to them; at least the boatmen thought so. But our old acquaintance, the canal boy, still survived, in the shape of a gallant colonel, and with his admirer and former canal companion, Brown, Garfield boldly started down the raging stream in a skiff. Arriving at Catlettsburg, he found a small steamer, the _Sandy Valley_, which he loaded with provisions, and ordered captain and crew to get up steam and take him back. They all refused, on the ground that such an attempt would end in failure, and probably in loss of life. But they did not know their man. His orders were repeated, and he went to the wheel himself. It was a wild torrent to run against. The river was far out of its natural limits, rushing around the foot of a chain of hills at sharp curves. In some places it was over fifty feet deep, and where the opposite banks rose close together the half-undermined trees would lean inward, their interlocking branches making the passage beneath both difficult and dangerous. But the undaunted leader pressed on, himself at the wheel forty hours out of the forty-eight. Brown stood steadfastly at the bow, carrying a forked pole, with which to ward off the big logs and trees which constantly threatened to strike the boat and stave in the bottom. The most exciting incident of all occurred the second night. At a sharp turn the narrow and impetuous flood whirled round and round, a boiling whirlpool; and in spite of great care the boat turned sidewise, and stuck fast in the muddy bank. Repeated efforts to pry the boat off were unavailing, and at last a new plan was suggested. Colonel Garfield ordered the men to lower a small boat, carry a line across, and pull the little steamer out of difficulty. They said no living mortal could attempt that feat and not die. This was just what they had said about starting the steamer from Catlettsburg, and the answer was similar.