cold, and we have to look out for our ears to keep them from freezing. We have a march of a mile to the city, and find the snow as deep on the road as the mud was at the battle of Williamsburg-up to our knees.

When we get to Bridge street, the head of our little column pulls up, for we have some stragglers. Getting into martial order, our drummer boy begins to tap his drum, and all keep step as best we can. Rat, tat, tat, rat, tat, tat, the people all flock from their comfortable firesides to the doors to see who are passing on that cold and stormy night. They soon find out who the intruders are, and all flock into the middle of the street, charge on our ranks, and everything is in utter confusion, for the hands of warm and loving friends seize us and welcome us home. We find, on examination, that some of our number on the march. from the depot, have been attacked by his majesty, king frost, and received severe contusions in the nose and ears, but I myself, as usual, come out without a scratch. A beautiful banquet is prepared for us at the Bronson House, and are welcomed home after our two years and a half in secessia.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

VISITING OUR FRIENDS-GAY TIMES-DEATH OF COL. CHAMPLIN-HIS FUNERAL-RECRUITING-SCENES

AND

INCIDENTS-OFF TO THE WARS AGAIN-ARRI

VAL AT THE FRONT-CAMP

LIFE ONCE MORE.

We can go now where we choose, and, of course, every one strikes for home. I go to Canada for a few days to see my friends. Of course I am welcomed very kindly by

them. After a few days at home I begin to get lonesome, and want to get back to the Valley City, where nearly all our boys are living.

Bidding farewell to friends once more, I jump aboard the train for Detroit, and take the same old sleepy express for Grand Rapids, but by taking a berth in the comfortable Pullman sleeping car, I sleep soundly till morning, when we arrive in the Valley City. I find my comrades all looking as though they were well used and are having gay times, and enjoy themselves hugely, for they well know how to appreciate a good time when they get it. But a soldier's life in the field has its joys as well as miseries.

Our poor Colonel Champlin is dying. His Fair Oaks wound has killed him. Oh, what a loss to the country at this time, to lose such a man, when his brilliant career has only begun. But he has done his share for the country, and can die with the satisfaction of having his comrades of his old regiment, the Third, give him the last rites of a brave soldier's burial. As his comrades gather around his dying bed, each one takes a last sad farewell of their commander, and more than brother. The tears fall thick and fast, and each one feels his loss indeed. But we must be reconciled in knowing that all must go the same road, good and bad, old and young, rich and poor. All must pass to that great unknown beyond the grave, but happy is he who, like the brave and gentle General Champlin, can say on his death bed, I have fought the good fight, for my country, and now there is a crown of glory laid up in the hearts of my countrymen for me. The members of the old regiment in the city march at the head of the funeral procession, for they have a right to the post of honor. We march slowly to the city of the dead and lower our beloved

Colonel into the silent grave, fire the parting salute over him, and leave the warrior to his rest. Brave soldier, thy work is done. No more shalt thou lead the men that loved thee on the charge. No more more shall we hear the clarion voice of our brave Colonel at the battle front. We drop a silent tear, and bid farewell to the honored dead, and march back to the city to make preparations to go and face the enemies of our country again. We have a few days more, and we fill up the time in recruiting for our regiment.

The day of our departure has come, and we bid goodbye to our friends and leave for the front once more, going over the same old route, through Detroit, Toledo, Cleveland, Pittsburg, Harrisburg, Baltimore, Washington, over the Long Bridge, through Fairfax, Union Mills, Manassas, Bristow, Catlett's, Warrenton Junction, Bealton, Rappahannock, and arrive safe at Brandy Station. We get off the cars and march over a short distance to our old camp, where we are met by our comrades and welcomed back to the front again.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

WINTER LIFE IN CAMP-SHOOTING A DESERTER-GEN. GRANT APPOINTED OVER ALL THE ARMIES-PREPARATIONS FOR THE SPRING CAMPAIGN-SUTLERS TO THE

REAR, AND SICK SENT TO GEN

ERAL HOSPITALS-READY FOR

A FORWARD MOVE.

Our whole army has comfortable winter quarters around Culpepper and Brandy Station. We have our churches, theatres, debating schools, plenty to eat and drink, and

clothing to keep us warm. Everything passes off very quietly along the lines, and all seems to be working well. Once in a while our cavalry wake up the enemy on the outposts, but nothing more than a skirmish takes place.

The monotony of camp life is to be broken by the shooting of a deserter. Of course, it is a hard thing to see one of our comrades shot in such a way, but military discipline must have its course. The soldier who deserts his comrades in the hour of danger, deserves all the punishment due him, which is shooting to death by musketry. If he had stood his chances with all the rest, then there would be no need of his coming to such an ignominious death. The ceremony is a sad one, and ought to be a warning to all soldiers to stand up like men and endure the hardships alike, with his comrades by his side. The day of execution has come. The bugle sounds the call to fall in, and the whole division form to witness the death of their unhappy comrade. Oh, what must be the poor culprit's thoughts when he hears THAT call, for it is the signal for him that his last hour on this earth has come.

The division is formed in a square, the head of which is left open, where the grave of the unhappy man is dug and waiting to receive its tenant. One regiment faces another, leaving space between for the procession to pass by. We hear in the distance the slow and mournful strains of the band as it leads the procession, playing the dead march. The mournful cortege comes slowly along; band first, then a posse of soldiers, then the coffin, borne on the shoulders of four men, and the doomed man behind it. By his side walks the man of God, preparing him for his last moments. After them in the rear is the squad of twelve men, with their loaded muskets, that is to send the poor, unhappy

comrade into eternity. At last the solemn procession halt. at the grave; the coffin is laid by its side, the squad of men take twelve or fifteen paces to the rear, turn about and face the man to be shot; the Provost Marshal of the division moves forward, and reads in distinct words the charges to the man and the sentence of the Court Martial, after which he steps back to his command. The Chaplain kneels with the culprit and sends forth a prayer to the throne of grace for the unhappy man. At this time the stoutest heart melts into sympathy, and many a handkerchief is seen to go to wipe the scalding tears that fall thick and fast, for indeed it is a solemn time, as any one can testify that had the unhappiness to witness such a scene. After the good Chaplain has done his duty, the doomed man is blindfolded and stands erect, waiting for the awful moment to come for him to be sent before his Maker. The Marshal gives the order to fire by signs with his sword, one, two, three, and the unhappy man is before the great Commander of us all, to give an account of all his doings in life. The guns of the squad are inspected, to see that every man had fired his piece. The muskets are loaded by other parties, and out of the twelve is one blank cartridge, each man thinks probably that he had the gun containing the blank. The division march by the corpse, which lays where it fell, each take a last look at the unhappy deserter, and then march back to camp.

About the middle of March, General Grant was appointed Lieutenant-General and Commander of the armies of the United States, and all think that he will lead the Army of the Potomac in the next campaign. We don't know anything about Grant only by reputation, for he has always figured in the west. We hope now that this will be our last campaign, and when we do move we have