The rendezvous for the boys of our neighborhood was Jim Corey’s blacksmith shop. Jim was a typical “village blacksmith” with a hearty greeting for every one, old and young. The boys could always count on Jim’s sympathy if they had a stone bruise, got a licking at home or lacked ten cents of the price of a circus ticket. Corey’s shop was also a favorite meeting place for the men. Here they would assemble after supper and discuss the all-absorbing topic, the war. One of the most regular in attendance was “Wash” Hopkins, as he was familiarly called. A particular nail keg with a piece of buffalo skin thrown over the end was the seat always reserved for him. He usually allowed the others to do the talking, but when he had anything to say it was right to the point. Almost everybody was of the opinion that the South was putting up a big game of bluff and that the affair would blow over quickly. On one occasion those gathered in the blacksmith shop had been discussing the situation and were pretty unanimous that the rebellion would be crushed out in sixty days. “Wash” roused himself and quietly remarked: “Guess you’d better make it ninety, boys.” At another time a young man was telling those assembled that he had enlisted in a company of sharpshooters; that they were going to pick off the rebel officers and artillerymen as fast as they showed themselves, which would demoralize the troops and send them flying from the field. “That’s all right,” says “Wash,” “but what do you suppose the other fellows are going to do while you’re shooting at them? Perhaps they may have sharpshooters, too.” How little I thought in those early days of the war that Corey and I would be soldiering in the same company and regiment a few months later. I recall the thrilling war meetings that were held in the churches and school houses. There was scarcely a place in the county where there was a store and postoffice that did not have its war meeting each week. It is worthy of mention that the most enthusiastic speakers on such occasions were eager to enlist--others. There comes to my mind the names of several who were always urging others to enlist, but who stayed at home and coined money while others fought, and after the war labored to have refunded to them by the taxpayers the money that they had expended for a substitute. Carthage sent volunteers promptly in response to Lincoln’s call, and a few days after the fall of Sumter about two dozen young men left to join the old 35th New York infantry. There was no railroad to Carthage in those days, and they rode away in wagons drawn by four horses. The scene comes before me as I write. The sad partings, the waving banners, the cheers of the multitude who had gathered to see them off to the war. Those were anxious, exciting days that the present generation know but little about.