sun was hot and the knapsack was heavy. After the second day's
march, those knapsacks contained little but what the soldier was
compelled to carry, his rations, extra ammunition, and clothing. Were
these home treasures lost? Oh, no! Not one. Our friends, the vets,
gathered them all in as a rich harvest. They had been there themselves,
and knowing what was coming, were on hand to gather the plums as they
fell. The only difference was, that another mother's or sweetheart's
"boy" got the treasures.

On September 11 we were approaching Frederick City. Our cavalry had a
skirmish with the rebel cavalry, showing that we were nearing their
army. And right here I ought to say that what an individual officer or
soldier--unless perhaps a general officer--knows of events transpiring
around him in the army is very little. Even the movements he sees, he is
seldom able to understand, his vision is so limited. He knows what his
own regiment and possibly his own brigade does, but seldom more than
that. He is as often the victim of false rumor as to movements of other
portions of the army, as those who are outside of it. On this date we
encamped near Clarksville. It was rumored that the rebels were in force
at Frederick City. How far away that is we do not know. The only
certainty about army life and army movements to the soldier is a
constant condition of uncertainty. Uncertainty as to where or when he
will eat, sleep, or fight, where or when the end will come. One would
almost doubt the certainty of his own existence, except for the hard
knocks which make this impossible.

The celebrated Irish brigade, commanded by Brigadier-General Thomas
Francis Meagher, was in Richardson's division. They were a "free and
easy" going crowd. General Richardson impressed me as a man of great
determination and courage. He was a large, heavy man, dressed roughly
and spoke and acted very brusquely. French (who commanded our division)
was also thick-set, probably upwards of sixty years old, quite gray and
with a very red face. He had an affection of the eyes which kept him
winking or blinking constantly, from which he earned the sobriquet, "Old
Blink Eye." I saw General Burnside about this time. He was dressed so as
to be almost unrecognizable as a general officer; wore a rough blouse,
on the collar of which a close look revealed two much-battered and faded
stars, indicating his rank of major-general. He wore a black "slouch"
hat, the brim well down over