occupying part of this territory and making frequent raids through the
other portions. But our officers stood sponsor for us, and we started
for our respective homes as happy as children let out of school.

Those of us living in Loudoun and Fauquier had to observe the greatest
caution to keep from being picked up by the enemy's scouting cavalry
before reaching home. But there were no misfortunes, and with joy
unspeakable, we, one by one, reached the "Old Homesteads."

To attempt to express the pleasure we got out of this little vacation
would tax the English language severely.

'Tis true that these were not just the old homes we had left three years
before in our bright new uniforms, with well-groomed horses and full
haversacks. The marching and counter-marching of first one army, then
the other, destroying fences and barns and driving off cattle and
horses, made a great change in the appearance of things.

No one attempted to keep up appearances. Besides, at this time, nearly
every home mourned one or more dead. The most of my old schoolmates who
had crossed the Potomac en route for Gettysburg went down on that hot
July afternoon when Pickett made his famous charge, for the Eighth
Virginia Infantry, in which nearly all my schoolmates had enlisted, was
almost annihilated that bloody afternoon.

Among the killed was Edwin Bailey, whom I have already mentioned as
going out with me from Middleburg in the spring of 1862, he to rejoin
his regiment, and I to enlist in the Sixth Virginia Cavalry. By his side
in that battle was his brother John. Edwin fell first, mortally wounded,
and John, severely wounded, fell across him. Edwin said, "John, if you
get home, tell them I died a Christian." These were his only and last
words.

I have often used this incident as an exemplification of the claims of
Christianity.

Notwithstanding all this, we enjoyed our vacation immensely, but there
was not a day that we were not in danger of being surrounded and
captured. The bluecoats were scouting through the country almost
continuously in search of Mosby's "gang," as they called it. We had to
keep on guard and watch the roads and hilltops every hour of the day. We
had the advantage of knowing the country and the hiding places and the
short cuts, and then we had our loyal servants, always willing to aid us
to escape "them Yankees."

For instance, I made a visit to Sunny Bank, the home of my
brother-in-law, E.C. Broun. My horse was hit