d taken in the situation as well as I, and when I said, "Come, Don,
let's us try it," he just gathered himself and sailed over that creek
like a bird, landing easily a couple of feet on the other side, and
swung around for another try. The young fellow gathered up his
thoroughbred and with an oath of disgust retired. Don and I became great
friends, and after our fight, above mentioned, in all our practice
jumping or on the march, or riding about, I never had occasion to use
the spur,--indeed, I seldom wore one. A simple "Come, Don," and he was
quick to obey my every wish. He was kind and tractable with others, but
it was a singular fact that, as for jumping or any other favors, he
would do nothing for anybody but me, not even for my man who took care
of him. Others, including horse-trainers, repeatedly asked to try him,
thinking they could improve his work, but he drew the line on all; not
even a little jump would he make for any of them. I had been jumping
him, one day, to the delight and admiration of the men. Among them was a
horse-trainer of the Fourth New York, who asked the privilege of trying
him. He mounted and brought him cantering up to the pole as though he
was going over all right, but instead of making the leap he suddenly
whirled, almost dumping the trainer, to the infinite amusement of the
men; nor could he induce him to make the leap. I mounted again and he
went over, back and forth, without the slightest hesitation. I brought
him home from the war, and it was a great grief to me that I was unable
to keep him as long as he lived. I secured him a good home, where he
lived to a dignified old age. One of my household gods is a photograph
of Don and myself, with a section of the camp of Hancock's division of
the Second Corps for a background, taken at this time, whilst we lay
back of Falmouth.

My second adventure that first day on picket duty occurred shortly after
I reached the head-quarters of the picket at the Lacey House, directly
opposite the city of Fredericksburg. I had seen the new line posted and
the old line relieved, when a grizzly bearded old gentleman rode up and
inquired for the "Officer of the day." His dress was exceedingly plain.
He wore a much-battered slouch hat down over his eyes, and on the
shoulders of his blouse, scarcely discernible, was what had been the
silver stars of a brigadier-general. I answered his inquiry by saluting,
and then recognized General Alfred Sully, long famed as an