a Company for the War, in which
many Hamilton and Sherburne men were enrolled. Isaac Plumb, one of my
most-thought-of friends, was in the number; there were others--Edgar
Willey, Israel O. Foote, Fred Ames, and more whose names I do not now
recall. I decided to wait no longer, but seek the enemy with the men of
this Company.

I left Cleveland Sept. 5th, 1861, and reached Utica Saturday afternoon
in time to find that the stage down the valley had gone, and I must
remain there until Monday morning, or use some other means of locomotion
southward to Sherburne. The question I asked myself was, "Why not test
your leg gear NOW, and see what you can do as a foot-man?" I answered
"All right," and started out, though it was well into the afternoon.
That evening I reached Oriskany Falls, a distance of about 20 miles. I
camped for the night at the hotel, but was up the next morning before
the hotel people. I left the price of the lodging on the bar, and
started south. It was about 24 miles to Sherburne, which I reached
about noon. I supplied the commissary department from houses along the
road.

My father and mother had no hint that I had left Cleveland. When I
entered the house my mother said, "Why, Charlie Fuller, you've come home
to go to war." She was the daughter of a man who was in the
Revolutionary Army when but sixteen years of age, and she had always
been proud of the fact, and she was, I am sure, gratified that she had a
boy desirous of imitating the example of her deceased father.

On my way through Hamilton, I had left word what I was there for, and I
was assured that Lieut. Coultis would soon be down to enroll me.

The next day he was on hand; he had, I believe, been in a militia
company; at all events, he appeared in the toggery of a militia officer.
He said he was authorized and prepared to "swear me in." I told him I
was ready for business, and then and there took the oath. I tried to
feel easy and appear unconcerned (whether or not I succeeded to outward
appearance I can not say) but I know that inside there was more or less
of a lump to swallow, for, to some extent, I realized that it was _not_
a picnic.

I was home for a week, in which time four men joined me. They were Lewis
R. Foote, Porter E. Whitney, Newel Hill and Albert H. Simmons. To show
what war does, the following summary is a fair sample--Foote, wounded at
Fair Oaks, discharged; Whitney, several times wounded, lastly in the
Wilderness Campaign,