My recollection is that these were Philadelphia troops. When we reached Hagerstown, we ran into a lot more of them, that had come down the Cumberland Valley from Harrisburg and Chambersburg to head Lee off. One of these organizations was, I think, called the Corn Exchange Regiment, recruited, or at least fathered, and sent into the field by the wealthy gentlemen of the Philadelphia Exchange. They were composed of what may be termed the better class of men; at least, that was their own estimate of themselves. At their Philadelphia home they probably ranked as rather an exclusive set of boys. Their officers were decidedly "fresh," to use a slang term; at least, we around headquarters, who had become accustomed to pay some attention to military etiquette, were disgusted to see these line officers crowd around our Generals, to stare at and talk as familiarly as if they were all corps commanders.

Custer and Kilpatrick, with whom I was then serving, were at first immensely amused at the efforts of the militia officers to make themselves agreeable. The officers and men, too, felt, no doubt, that it was their only opportunity to see a live General, like Kilpatrick and Custer, and were bound to gratify their curiosity while they had a chance.

In addition to their curiosity, these chaps were continually imploring General Kilpatrick to let them have "just one chance at the Rebels."

They begged that they might be permitted to have an opportunity to distinguish themselves before they returned to Philadelphia.

One evening Kilpatrick told Custer, in my hearing, to put some of these men out on the picket-line, which was really a most dangerous place, for they were in close proximity to the rear-guard of Lee's army. The rear of an army cornered, as was Lee's at that time, is an ugly place to put a recruit, and General Kilpatrick knew very well that, in yielding to their foolish requests, he was subjecting them to great danger. But General Kilpatrick concluded he would have a little fun out of the recruits, so he placed some of them on the advance line, and watched to see what they would do if attacked. We all dismounted, and were watching the lines of Rebels. The officer of the guard protested against having these new men on his line, saying they would be likely to raise a hornets' nest about our ears, but Kilpatrick told him to let them try their hands a little while. These men went up the hill a little distance, when their brilliant uniforms attracted the attention of the Johnnies, and, as they acted as though they were going to drive Lee's army across the Potomac, they let these recruits have a few shots by way of warning, which was answered by the Philadelphians, who became excited, with a broadside. The Rebel fire had injured about a dozen of the recruits, one big fellow keeling over and yelling like a boy stumping a sore toe. Instead of continuing up the hill, or even falling back, they all crowded together where the wounded lay, and began to console with them. They were finally brought away, with the loss of a few more men, and they did not bother General Kilpatrick again to be placed in the front rank of the army. But there was one thing about Kilpatrick: he never ordered a man to go where he was not willing to lead. I stood beside him the following day, near Williamsport, when a rifle-ball whizzed close by his ear. Jerking up his hand nervously, as if stung by a bee, or to brush off a mosquito, he turned to me and said: "Holy Moses! That ball came near hitting me." But he didn't move out of range of that sharpshooter--but I did.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

CLOSING CHAPTER.

We were all expecting another great battle at Hagerstown. I hung close to the headquarters in the stirring days, after Gettysburg, during which I witnessed some scenes that would make quite interesting reading. At this time there was frequent communication between the Washington War Department and Headquarters, the greater part of which, coming by wire, I had an opportunity of scanning.

In reading the recent _Century_ war-papers, and also some of the official reports now being published, the thought oftenest occurring to my mind is, why don't they publish _everything_, even the little straws, which significantly tell which way the wind was blowing at that time. We were in a manner besieged by the visitors who thronged about Headquarters, after Gettysburg, in a _civil_, inquisitive way that was very annoying to the officers.

General Meade has never received the full meed of praise to which he was entitled for his management of the Army of the Potomac during and in the days immediately following Gettysburg.

He was a peculiar man--in many ways, one not constituted to "command"

attention. He was evidently conservative, and, perhaps, too cautious, but when one recalls that he had _won_ a great victory, and in forcing a second battle, unprepared, he not only staked his hard-earned laurels, but he risked the army and the Capitol.

I happen to know that General Meade felt keenly President Lincoln's severe criticism, though it was uttered in his usual, joking way. The General was an exceedingly sensitive man, and when he got to hear that the President compared him and his pursuit of Lee over the Potomac to an old woman shooing her geese over the river, he actually wanted to resign.

General Meade was every inch a soldier, as well as a gentleman, by birth and training.

In camp he was the most unpretentious looking of the General officers.

His spectacled face, rather quiet, scholarly bearing, reminds me of professors or doctors whom we frequently see; they resemble him in appearance.

He always wore a slouch hat, and around his neck was invariably worn the old-fashioned leather _stock_, used in the Regular Army on recruits to keep their heads checked up.

He usually slept in an ambulance attached to Headquarters.

We learned that Lee had retreated the night before the impending battle, and early in the morning the cavalry were astir, in pursuit. I rode from Hagerstown to Williamsport, Md., with General Kilpatrick, following precisely the same road I had footed it when scouting, just before Bull Run. We passed through the deserted camps, in which the fires were still burning. The Rebels had so hurriedly left them that in many places their camp equipages were left behind.

Kilpatrick was _mad_. He was very mad--on seeing the enemy had all gotten away, and, putting spurs to his own horse, dashed ahead of his advance guard, and rode so recklessly that those of us not so well mounted had difficulty in keeping up.

He instinctively saw that there was no force in his immediate front, and, without paying any attention to the hundreds of Rebel stragglers who were on the road, he gave order to his command to hurry on to the river after him.

On reaching Williamsport, we made a little haul of stragglers, but Kilpatrick sat on his horse sideways, looking over the river into Virginia with an expression of disgust on his face that I shall never forget.

Some of the colored residents of the town told Kilpatrick of the enemy's manner of retreat. Not a Rebel was in sight, but they also notified him of a Rebel battery that was slyly masked in the woods over the river, intended as a deadly ambuscade for any troop that should precipitately follow too close.

On hearing this, Kilpatrick quietly put a house between himself and the aforesaid masked battery. When our artillery came up with the cavalry, I was sent to conduct a section of it to a certain place behind the houses, but which admitted of the guns pointing between two adjoining houses.

The colored people who lived in them gave the gunners the exact location of the Rebels, and in less time than it takes for me to describe it, our section let them have a dose of the medicine they intended for us.

The Rebels were so surprised they did not have time to return the salute, but scampered away as fast as they could. At this, the entire colored population of the town, which had assembled, broke out in the wildest yells of delight I had ever heard.

Custer, accompanied by a few officers of his Staff dashed up to Kilpatrick, who, by the way, was the senior, or the General in Command, and in his eager, boyish way, said: "General, hadn't I better go down below here and see if we can't find some of 'those people'?"

General Lee never called the Union Army Federals or Yankees--it was always "those people."

Kilpatrick laughed as he said something to Custer that was not intended for his superior, General Meade's ears.

Custer, in his nervous manner, again suggested going after some of "those people" down below.

As if to gratify Custer's eagerness, not with any expectation of finding an enemy, Kilpatrick indifferently gave his consent, and Custer, turning to the Staff-officers, who were with him, gave a few orders and dashed off. I followed Custer at a gallop.

We rode three or four miles perhaps, when we reached some of our own cavalry and infantry.

This was in the neighborhood of Falling Waters, and here, on the Potomac river, almost the same place I had, as a Scout, crossed into Dixie a year previously. We will, for the present, say good-by to the grand old Army of the Potomac.

There was a little battle at Falling Waters, in which Custer's Division participated.

I cannot part from Custer, however, without a heartfelt word of praise and devotion for the gallant "Boy General." His Michigan troops were among the very best in our army. I hope some of the Western readers of this will see that I bear my humble testimony to the exalted opinion Custer had of them. It was the custom of the General to frequently discuss the relative merits of their troops, and Custer certainly did love his old Division.

On this occasion, one of Custer's aides was a Michigan Officer, and in my hearing, while still on horseback, under fire, I heard Custer assure the officer that he had given Michigan full credit for certain work in his official report.

While straggling off from the headquarters during a skirmish with some Rebels upon a hill-top, I was surprised to see two good-looking young men in gray uniform come out of the woods and ride up to me. While in the midst of our army, it had never occurred to me that I was in any danger of capture, but, as I was still some distance from any of our troops, these two rebel chaps had me sure. Both were armed and well mounted, while I was, at the time, dismounted. To my great relief, however, they surrendered to me, stating that they were tired of the war, and did not want to go back to Virginia, so they had concealed themselves in the woods until an opportunity offered of surrendering. I welcomed them cordially to the North. One fellow at once handed me his pistol, belt and saber, which are to-day in my possession as trophies of war. The pistol contains yet the five loads that were put in it by the Rebel soldier. As my horse had been struck in the leg by a spent ball while on South Mountain, and was lamed from the bruise, I also traded horses with the Rebel.

And now we will again say a reluctant good-by to the Army of the Potomac.

So it came to pass that I returned to the very same grounds on which we had first visited the Army of Patterson, previous to Bull Run. We are again on the Potomac, nearly at the same point we had started from two years previously.

Obtaining a furlough from the ever-accommodating General Alexander, Chief of Staff at Cavalry Corps Headquarters, I turned my horse's head North and, instead of following the Army back into Virginia, I rode my Rebel horse, as the "solitary horseman," dressed in my war clothes and wearing my captured saber and pistol, through Chambersburg to the little hamlet where I was born, where I enjoyed a few days' rest with a sister, who was attending school at Chambersburg, and who had witnessed the Rebel Army's occupation of the place. Her story would make an interesting chapter in this connection, but we are off duty now enjoying the furlough and must hurry home.

In the few days that immediately followed, I rode, solitary and alone, along the old pike, over the Blue Ridge Mountains to Bedford, Pennsylvania, and from there debouched across the mountain by an almost unfrequented path to my father's home at Wilmore near Cresson, where I surprised the homefolks by dashing up to the door about supper time, one summer evening, wearing the uniform that I had taken away from there less than a year previously. It had, however, received its baptism of fire at Gettysburg and all along the line.

The old Rebel horse remained on my father's farm for many years.

The story from this out must be told at another time. The wonderfully thrilling and romantic story of Geno and the Wells family--which represents the "other side"--will make a volume of romance in real life that is indeed stranger than fiction, and exceeds my own adventures in our lines.

"The story of our love is incomplete;"

The leaves of many years are missing; Lonely apart we pined, each seeking truth Together, we will find love's land enchanted.

The past is flown, the future still have we; So let our twin souls blend beyond the ages, Till young and fair, beside the Jasper Sea, We may discover all love's torn out pages.

One word of retrospect. As will be remembered, I was ambitious to secure a commission from the War Department. I had worked zealously and faithfully for it. My trials and troubles with the War Office have been told here. It had resulted in my being disappointed for many days. Yet, at the time of which I am writing, while I was serving as an enlisted man, drawing my rations and pay as such, I was in fact an officer and did not know it, and only learned it some months afterward. This anomaly was brought about after Gettysburg by Mr. Lincoln, who, on learning of my former services, ordered my commission ante-dated one year. So that, when I got my parchment at last, I found that I ranked some of the older officers in seniority.

As I have furnished other references to establish the correctness of my statements, I take especial pride in putting before the readers the following correspondence.

I lost my original parchment while traveling in California in 1884.

General Stoneman, then Governor, to whom I wrote about my loss, kindly interested himself in assisting me in my search for it, but, not finding it, I applied to the War Department for a certified copy. The following is the reply, which explains itself: