After the formation of the battalion, it was ordered to New Market, to join the infantry and artillery of the Maryland Line there encamped. The winter was passed at various points in the Valley, with its usual routine of picket duty, and but little to vary the monotony of camp life. During that time an expedition was made to Moorefield, by General Jones, but it was attended with no incident worthy of note. The author cannot say, though, that it was by any means an unpleasant winter. We did suffer many hardships and privations, it is true, and were compelled more than once to sleep in the snow; but then we had our enjoyments in social intercourse. The cavalry visited the infantry and artillery, and the infantry and artillery visited the cavalry; and especially was this the case when it was known a committee from either had returned from a trip to the “Fort.” And when, on rainy days, we were compelled to seek the shelter of our shebangs, we could listen to Lieutenant Bill Dorsey narrate the particulars of his famous duel. Pshaw! Don Quixote and his windmill were nowhere. The reader may wonder what is meant by this mysterious “Fort.” In a word, it was a secluded spot in the mountains where persimmon whiskey was distilled, the road to which was known to Tom Griffith’s big stone jug full well. The author paid a visit to this famous “Fort” on one occasion. He would not have gone had he not been ordered by Colonel Herbert. Oh, no, for he had been for a long while thinking of signing the temperance pledge. But then he had been taught to always obey orders. Colonel Herbert had invited Colonel Funston and Colonel Massey to dine next day, and it seemed so unsociable not to have something stronger than water on the table, if only for appearance sake. And then chickens and turkeys were to be bought, etc. He went, and with him Captain Ferd. Duvall, mounted on Emack’s race horse. In due time we arrived, and found things cheap, very cheap. Captain Duvall was a prodigal man with his money, and bought one gallon and a half of persimmon juice, which was poured into sundry three pint canteens. The day was damp and raw, and it was necessary to try the whiskey to test its quality. “I don’t think it’s good,” I remarked, after tasting it. “You are mistaken,” said the Captain; “it’s capital. Try it again.” And we had another pull. “Better than I thought,” said I, taking the canteen from my lips. “You were right at first,” said Ferd., almost strangled; “not good at all—not good at all.” “You are mistaken,” I insisted, “as you will be convinced if you try it again.” And we did try again, and found it capital. And then poultry was to be bought; and here again the Captain was prodigal. Three turkeys, six chickens, one goose, two ducks and a guinea fowl was the extent of his purchase, which we strapped behind our saddles. “One more pull, Major,” said he, “and then ho for camp.”