burg, and from there proceed to Pittsburg through the old Alleghaney Mountains. From there we travel very slow, for a fearful storm of snow is raging all over the north, causing us to lay over sometimes on account of its depth. I am sure most of my readers will remember the first of January, 1864, as the coldest day that the oldest inhabitant ever saw. I shall always remember it, for the marrow in my bones was almost frozen, and all wished ourselves back to our comfortable camp in old Virginia. But time flies by, and so did those few coldest days, and we find ourselves in the City of the Straits after a long and tedious journey. We are well received by the good people of Detroit, and take the sleepy night train for Grand Rapids. When we arrive in Lowell there are four trains laying over, for the track is blocked with snow in a cut a short distance beyond. Our conductor wants to lay over too, but we can't see it on a thirty days' furlough. Now we have built fortifications and breastworks, are as used to the shovel, and can handle it as well as the gun. So we tell the conductor to provide us with some of the former weapons and we will shovel him and his train through. Provided with the necessary implements, the locomotive snorts and blows her whistle, and of we go for the snow bank. The engine comes to a sudden halt. We jump out and attack the snow bank, and after working hard we soon had the track so clear that the train passed over in safety. We jump aboard, the engine puffs along slowly up the grade, and gains the top all right. She goes faster and faster, and we come thundering down to the depot of the Valley City. Of course no one expects us, as all think we are snow-bound somewhere. It is well they think so, for greater will be their surprise and pleasure to see us. As we get off the cars the snow is almost blinding, the weather is fearfully

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.

1

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, bat 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