y our army, but there was no luxuriance of
vegetation. The mountains, the Blue Ridge on one side and the North
mountains on the other, rose abruptly from the valley in parallel lines,
and looked as though a race of Titans had been at war, and had thrown up
these long ridges as breastworks for opposing forces.

A little beyond Charlestown was a lovely meadow, lying between two
groves of oak. At the further end of the meadow was a neat white
cottage, where there seemed more comfort than we had seen elsewhere in
the valley. The place was away from the direct line of march, and partly
concealed by the groves.

Those who left the column were furnished by the family with pure sweet
water from a well, which the family asserted was sunk by order of
General Braddock. Such places were so rare that our men and animals
suffered from thirst. Few who were on that march will forget a spring
which we passed near the close of that day's march. A large white frame
house stood upon an elevation, surrounded by trees, and at foot of the
elevation, a large spring, under the shade of a huge willow, and
surrounded by other trees. The water gushed out from a fissure in the
rock, clear as crystal, and in such volume that a large brook was formed
at once. Over the spring was the usual "spring house." Soldiers filled
this building, covered the great rocks, crowded the grove, and for many
yards around a dense mass of men pressed to get near the tempting
fountain, all eager to fill their cups and canteens, and hasten on with
the column. No one can know with what delight the soldiers quaffed the
sparkling fluid from their sooty coffee pots, who has not suffered the
torture of extreme thirst.

We halted near Clifton, and resumed our march on the following morning,
to suffer, if possible, more from heat and thirst than ever. At night we
bivouacked near Opequan creek. We threw ourselves upon the grassy sward,
with the beautiful canopy of heaven with its mottled clouds and
twinkling stars and flying meteors, for our tent. For many of us, this
was the only tent we had slept under since leaving Petersburgh, and we
were satisfied with it. The air was purer and the breeze fresher than
when we were inclosed by canvas.

Again, on the morning of the 12th, we were marching. We passed through
the villages of Newtown and Middletown, and halted at night on the banks
of Cedar creek.

We were startled in the morning by the announcement of the death of a
good so