Here is a date and a locality indelibly burned into my memory. I was then an enlisted fourth-class musician in the Twenty-fourth Ohio Regiment, in which my elder brother was a first lieutenant, and afterwards captain and colonel, successively. I had campaigned in Western Virginia, and had seen some of the terrors and horrors of war at Philippi and Rich Mountain, and some of its actualities in a winter campaign in the Cheat Mountain district. During the winter of 1861, my command was sent to Louisville, Kentucky, where General Buell was organizing his splendid army of the Ohio for active operations against Bowling Green and Nashville. My regiment was assigned to General Nelson’s command, and the early spring found us on the left flank of the army, on the north side of Green River. With unexpected suddenness Nelson’s division was sent back one day in March to the Ohio River, where it was placed on transports and headed for the Cumberland River to participate in Grant’s movement against Fort Donelson. Before reaching that point, intelligence was received of the capture of that stronghold, and our flotilla proceeded to Paducah, Kentucky. At that point General W. T. Sherman was organizing his recruits from Ohio, Indiana and Illinois for the forward movement up the Tennessee River. I had been taken ill on the steamer _en route_, and my father, who at that time commanded the Seventieth Ohio, stationed at Paducah, took me in his personal charge. Two days later my regiment sailed up the Cumberland River and was with the first brigade to enter Nashville. When I had reached the convalescent stage, I asked permission to rejoin my command, but General Sherman said the armies of Grant and Buell would form a coalition somewhere up the Tennessee River, and I would be better off in my father’s care than elsewhere. Thus it happened that I was with the army of General Sherman when it felt its way up the turbid Tennessee as far as Pittsburg Landing, and it so happened that I was at Shiloh Church on the morning of that terrible onslaught by General Johnston’s army on Sherman’s division, which held the advance of Grant’s army. I have often wondered what sort of a soldier I must have appeared at that time. I can remember myself as a tall, pale, hatchet-faced boy, who could never find in the Quartermaster’s department a blouse or a pair of trousers small enough for him, nor an overcoat cast on his lines. The regulation blue trousers I used to cut off at the bottom, and the regulation overcoat sleeves were always rolled up, which gave them the appearance of having extra military cuffs, which was a consolation to me.