we rattled along
over the railroad, the scenery for the first few miles was beautiful,
and we began to think that Old Virginny was really the flower of the
Union. But a 'change soon came over the spirit of our dreams.'

After passing a small shanty, called Petroleum,--from the numerous
oil-wells in the vicinity,--we met with the first really hard work we
had seen since we began the life of a soldier. Here the rebels had burnt
one of the railroad bridges, and all hands had to 'fall in' and repair
damages. Never did men work with a better will. Slender youths, who, if
they had been told one month before, that on the 30th day of May, 1861,
they would be laying rails and cutting timber for Uncle Sam, for eleven
dollars a month, would have pitied their informant as insane, were here
working with a will that showed what a man can do if he only sets
himself about it. For two days and a night we toiled and ceased not, and
when, on the evening of the second day, we passed over the 'soldiers'
bridge' in safety, such a shout rent the air as I never heard before.

A few miles beyond the burnt bridge, the scenery began to change. In the
clear starlight, instead of beautiful streams and fine farms, we beheld
hills and mountains covered with an almost impenetrable growth of
underbrush, and large rocks hanging over our heads, ready to be hurled
down upon us by some unseen hand, and to crush our little handful of
men. On we went, at a snail's pace, till about ten o'clock, P.M., when
our joy was again turned to woe, for here too the dogs of Jeff Davis had
been doing their work, and had burnt another bridge. We waited until
morning, and then, after some hard swearing, were once more transformed
into 'greasy mechanics,' and before the sun went down had passed to the
'other side of Jordan' in safety.

Here began our first experience of the hospitality of the sons, or
rather daughters, of Virginia.

A small farm-house stood near the bridge, numerous cows were grazing in
the pasture close by, and everything denoted a home of comfort and
plenty. This, I thought, must be the home of some F.F.V., and I will
take a pail--or rather camp kettle--and 'sarah forth' to buy a few
quarts of milk. Wending my way to the house, I knocked at the door, and
instantly six female heads protruded from the window. Presently one of
them, an elderly woman, opened the door, and inquired what I wanted.

'Have you any milk to spare?' I said.

'I reckon,' replie