commands he would send his cavalry down to drive them out. In less than fifteen minutes his words were made good. A squadron of cavalry, divided at either end of the landing, and riding towards each other with drawn sabres, drove away every man found between the steep bank and the river. The majority of the skulkers climbed up the bank, hanging by the roots of the trees, and in less than ten minutes after the cavalry had passed, they were back in their old places. I never saw General Grant again until I saw him as President of the United States. While sitting on the high bank of the river I looked across to the opposite side, and saw a body of horsemen emerging from the low cane brakes back of the river. In a moment I saw a man waving a white flag with a red square in the center. I knew that he was signalling, for I had seen the splendid corps of Buell’s army, and I recognized that the men with that flag were our friends. Sitting by me were two distracted fugitives, who also saw the movement on the other side of the river. Said one of them to his companion: “Bill, we are gone now. There’s the Texas cavalry on the other side of the river!” The red square had misled him. Fifteen minutes later I saw the head of a column of blue emerge from the woods beyond and move hurriedly down toward the river’s edge. Immediately the empty transports moved over to that side of the river, and the first boat brought over a figure which I recognized. The vessel was a peculiar one, belonging in Southern waters, and had evidently been used as a ferry boat. On its lower forward deck, which was long and protruding, sat a man of tremendous proportions, on a magnificent Kentucky horse, with bobbed tail. The officer was rigged out in all his regimentals, including an enormous hat with a black feather in it. I knew that this was General Nelson, commonly known as “Fighting Bull Nelson.” I ran down to the point where I saw his boat was going to land, and as she ran her prow up on the sandy beach, Nelson put spurs to his horse and jumped him over the gunwale. As he did this, he drew his sword and rode right into the crowd of refugees, shouting: “_Damn your souls, if you won’t fight, get out of the way and let men come here who will!_” I realized from the presence of Nelson that my regiment (the Twenty-fourth Ohio) was probably in that vicinity. I asked one of the boat hands to take me on board, and, after some persuasion, he did so. The boat recrossed, and as soon as I got on shore, I ran down to where the troops were embarking to cross the river to the battlefield. I soon found Ammen’s Brigade, and my regiment. Hurrying on board one of the transports, I climbed to the hurricane deck and there found my brother with his company. He was looking across the river, where the most appalling sight met his vision. The shore was absolutely packed with the disorganized, panic-stricken troops who had fled before the terrible Confederate onslaught, which had