despoiled,
and that atmosphere of desolation which ever clings about a deserted
home, enveloped the place. A winding roadway under thick foliaged trees,
led down the Heights to the "Long Bridge," crossing the Potomac. Near
the house stood an old-fashioned "well sweep" which carried a
moss-covered bucket on its trips down the well, to bring up the most
sparkling of water. Instinctively a feeling of sadness took possession
of the heart at the mournful contrast between the past and present of
this beautiful spot.

"Ah, crueler than fire or flood
Come steps of men of alien blood,
And silently the treacherous air
Closes--and keeps no token, where
Its dead are buried."

The day of trial--the baptism of battle--seemed rapidly approaching.
General McClellan, having drilled and manoeuvred and viewed and reviewed
the Army of the Potomac, until what had been little better than an armed
and uniformed mob began to assume the aspect of a body of regulars,
determined upon an advance movement. Accordingly on the third of March,
1862, the army marched upon Centreville, captured the "Quaker" guns
and, much to the disgust of his followers, fell back upon his original
position, instead of continuing the advance.

As the Harris Light enjoyed throughout this campaign of magnificent
possibilities, the honor of being "Little Mac's" body guard, they were
of course during the forward movement in high spirits. They believed it
to be the initial step to a vigorous campaign in which they might hold
the post of honor. But when the order to fall back came, their
disappointment was great indeed. At first they were mystified, but it
soon leaked out that a council of war had been held and that McClellan's
plan of the Peninsular Campaign had been adopted.

It had also been determined that a section of the army should be left
behind, under the command of General Irvin McDowell, to guard the
approaches to Washington.

The First Pennsylvania Cavalry, under the command of General (then
Colonel) George Dashiel Bayard, and the Harris Light, remained with the
latter force. Under such a leader as Bayard, the men could have no fear
of rusting in inactivity. He was the soul of honor, the bravest of the
brave. No more gallant spirit ever took up the sword, no kinder heart
ever tempered valor, no life was more stainless, no death could be more
sad; for the day that was appointed for his nuptials closed over his
grave.

Judson Kilpatrick