A most ludicrous incident occurred during our march that night. A halt of perhaps five minutes had permitted nearly all of us to drop off into the arms of morpheus when some general’s pack horse broke away from the rest and came tearing down the lines, his load of camp kettles and other culinary equipage making a great clattering and creating something of a panic. When I awoke I was running through the woods about three or four rods from the road, and everybody else was doing likewise. One of our band boys ran into a tree and smashed his horn. Others lost their caps, blankets, etc., and we were a very demoralized lot of soldiers for a few moments. But order was soon restored and the march was continued the balance of the night without any other event worthy of note. About daybreak we heard musketry, and our brigade, which was then commanded by Gen. Nelson A. Miles, was rushed forward to support the cavalry, who were having a brisk little skirmish with the enemy at Guinea station. The rebels were routed, however, without the infantry firing a shot. We halted long enough to make coffee and then resumed the march, passing that day through a part of the state that had not been ravaged by war. IN A BEAUTIFUL LAND. We marched along beautifully shaded roadways, and the air was fragrant with May blossoms. Herds of cattle grazed in luxuriant pastures. The homes of the people were comfortable and everything looked peaceful and inviting to the thousands of poor, tired soldiers as they went marching by. We only made one halt during the day, which was an intensely hot one. Strong men fell down by the roadside from sheer exhaustion, but the rear guards would drive them on when they came along, for to be left behind was certain capture, and there was not ambulance accommodations enough for the wounded. Late in the afternoon we reached Milford and, crossing the Mattapony river at that point, intrenched ourselves on the south side, remaining there the next day, which gave us a much needed rest and afforded us an opportunity to bathe in the river. It is said the Mattapony was so named because it is made up from four small streams which are called respectively, the: Mat-Ta-Po-Ny. I was feeling quite down in the mouth, so to speak, when we halted that night, for when I had been taking a little nap in the shade of a rail fence at our midday halt some miscreant had stolen my haversack containing five days’ rations. But, thanks to my big hearted comrade, I did not suffer for food as long as he had a mouthful. A GOOD CHUM.