ies, and
each company in its turn marched to the paymaster's tent, near
regimental headquarters. The roll of the company would be called in
alphabetical order, and each man, as his name was called, would answer,
and step forward to the paymaster's table. That officer would lay on
the table before the man the sum of money he was entitled to, and with
it his certificate of discharge from the army, duly signed by the
proper officials. The closing of the hand of the soldier over that
piece of paper was the final act in the drama that ended his career as
a soldier of the Civil War. Now he was a civilian, free to come and go
as he listed. Farewell to the morning drum-beats, taps, roll-calls,
drills, marches, battles, and all the other incidents and events of a
soldier's life.

"The serried ranks, with flags displayed,
The bugle's thrilling blast,
The charge, the thund'rous cannonade,
The din and shout--were past."

The scattering-out process promptly began after we received our pay and
discharges. I left Springfield early the following day, the 28th, on
the Chicago, Alton, and St. Louis railroad, and went to Alton. Here I
luckily found a teamster who was in the act of starting with his wagon
and team to Jerseyville, and I rode with him to that place, arriving
there about the middle of the afternoon. I now hunted diligently to
find some farm wagon that might be going to the vicinity of home, but
found none. While so engaged, to my surprise and great delight, I met
the old Chaplain, B. B. Hamilton. As heretofore stated, he had resigned
during the previous March and had been at home for some months. His
greeting to me was in his old-fashioned style. "Son of Jeremiah!" he
exclaimed, as he extended his hand, "why comest thou down hither? And
with whom hast thou left those few sheep in the wilderness?" I promptly
informed him, in effect, that my coming was regular and legitimate, and
that the "few sheep" of the old regiment were forever through and done
with a shepherd. Hamilton did not reside in Jerseyville, but had just
arrived there from his home in Greene county, and, like me, was trying
to find some farmer's conveyance to take him about five miles into the
country to the home of an old friend. I ascertained that his route, as
far as he went, was the same as mine, so I proposed that we should
strike out on foot. But he didn't entertain the proposition with much
enthusiasm. "Son of Jeremiah," said he, "you