position of
State Geologist of Indiana, and is the son of the celebrated Robert J.
Owen, who founded the Communist Society at New Harmony, Indiana. Every
sprig, leaf, and stem on the route suggested to Colonel Owen something
to talk about, and he proved to be a very entertaining companion.

General Reynolds is a graduate of West Point, and has the theory of war
completely; but whether he has the broad, practical common sense, more
important than book knowledge, time will determine. As yet he is an
untried quantity, and, therefore, unknown.

30. About two o'clock P. M., for want of something better to do, I
climbed the high mountain in front of our camp. The side is as steep as
the roof of a gothic house. By taking hold of bushes and limbs of trees,
after a half hour of very hard work, I managed to get to the top,
completely exhausted. The outlook was magnificent. Tygart's valley, the
river winding through it, and a boundless succession of mountains and
ridges, all lay before me. My attention, however, was soon diverted from
the landscape to the huckleberries. They were abundant; and now and then
I stumbled on patches of delicious raspberries. I remained on the
mountain, resting and picking berries, until half-past four. I must be
in camp at six to post my pickets, but there was no occasion for haste.
So, after a time, I started leisurely down, not the way I had come up,
but, as I supposed, down the eastern slope, a way, apparently, not so
steep and difficult as the one by which I had ascended. I traveled on,
through vines and bushes, over fallen timber, and under great trees,
from which I could scarcely obtain a glimpse of the sky, until finally I
came to a mountain stream. I expected to find the road, not the stream,
and began to be a little uncertain as to my whereabouts. After
reflection, I concluded I would be most likely to reach camp by going up
the stream, and so started. Trees in many places had fallen across the
ravine, and my progress was neither easy nor rapid; but I pushed on as
best I could. I never knew so well before what a mountain stream was. I
scrambled over rocks and fallen trees, and through thickets of laurel,
until I was completely worn out. Lying down on the rocks, which in high
water formed part of the bed of the stream, I took a drink, looked at my
watch, and found it was half-past five. My pickets were to be posted at
six. Having but a half hour left, I started on. I could see no opening
yet.