Just before our march to the front the son of an officer of the regiment came to make his father a visit, and being there when we got orders to take the field, he thought it would be a fine thing to go along and see the sights--a sort of picnic. We, being somewhere near the same age, were in each other’s company a great deal. When the regiment became engaged at Bull Run we were the source of much anxiety to our fathers and, not being of any particular use on the firing line, were sent to the rear, where the baggage wagons and “coffee coolers” were assembled. When the break in the lines occurred and the troops rushed pell mell to the rear there were some lively movements. Everybody went and stood not on the order of their going. Charley Rogers of our company--a former resident of Lorraine--drove a four-horse team which drew a wagon loaded with baggage belonging to the officers of the regiment. Charley saw us boys and called out to “get aboard,” and be “damn lively about it, too.” It was one of the old style government wagons, canvas-covered with a round hole at the rear end. We crawled up in front and sat with our backs against Charley’s seat and facing the rear. Didn’t we get a shaking up, though? For Rogers sent the horses for all they were worth. Occasionally there would be a jam in the road caused by some wagon breaking down. Near Bull Run Bridge a blockade occurred, and while we sat there expecting that the rebel cavalry would swoop down and demand our surrender we were terrorized by seeing the point of a bayonet looking at us through the hole at the rear of the wagon. Before we recovered ourselves enough to speak somebody behind that gun and bayonet gave it a shove and the glittering piece of cold steel passed between us two boys and embedded itself in the back of Charley’s seat. Then the pale face of a soldier was stuck through the hole and instead of a Johnnie reb it was one of our regiment by the name of Hawkins. When near Bull Run bridge the road became so blocked that we could not move. A section of a light battery came along and the drivers thought they could pull out to the roadside and pass. In doing so the wheels of one gun sank in the soft ground and, toppling over on the side, became entangled in the fence. Nearly all of the men deserted it and ran for dear life. One driver stuck to his horses and plied the whip, but the carriage refused to move. The enemy were coming steadily on and the bullets began to whistle unpleasantly. We had gotten out of our wagon, intending to go ahead on foot. About this time along came a member of our company by the name of Will McNeil, who was serving as a teamster. He had abandoned his wagon and was riding one of his big mule team and leading the other. Hawkins hailed him, saying “See here McNeil, hitch your mules on ahead of these artillery horses and let’s save this gun from capture.”