the officers against the Brigadier’s orders to go forward without waiting for food) we proceeded on our weary way; and about three hours’ marching over very good, but awfully steep mountain roads, brought us to the spot designated for the division camp, where we went to sleep in the customary rain, which fatigue had now deprived of its powers.

At this portion of the march, Judge Davies (of the New York Court of Appeals) who had come to the front with despatches, joined the regiment, and shared its fortunes in the subsequent movements until he was compelled to return home, after our arrival at Waynesboro’. The Judge seemed to take a great interest in what was transpiring; and it would have considerably surprised those who have only beheld him on the bench, to have seen him, in an old linen coat “split down behind,” scouring the country to the right and left of the line of march, in quest of supplies and information for the Twenty-second; displaying, in these pursuits, the most invaluable talents as a forager, and a capacity for enduring hardship and privation which put many of his juniors to the blush.

The situation of our present camp was most picturesque, the scenery magnificent, the mountain air bracing. There was only one drawback—that the few wagons that had resisted the embraces of the mud could not be brought up to the crest of the mountain where the camp was situated. These wagons contained our rations (and precious little of them too); that we could not live without eating, at least once a day, was made evident, even to the great mind that controlled us; and so, as the mountain would not come to Mahomet, Mahomet had to go to the mountain, and the next morning we marched down the other side, in imitation of the king of France, of pious memory, to a camp where, by hard foraging, at about one o’clock, P. M., we secured our breakfast of bread, apple butter and meat—real meat, and never did breakfast taste so good in all this world.

It was well known by this time, that while we were stuck in the mud on the glorious Fourth, the rebels had retreated from Gettysburg, and were now endeavoring to escape through the mountain passes, and we were reluctantly compelled to abandon the hopes that had been entertained of earning immortal glory, by coming in at the eleventh hour to turn their defeat into a rout. It is evident to every one that it would have made an immense difference in the result of the contest, if our division of fresh troops, eight or ten thousand strong, could have been precipitated upon the flank of the rebel army, exhausted as they were by three days’ fighting. But it was not to be; and therefore, turning away from Gettysburg, we bent our energies to prevent the rebels from securing the mountain passes. Marching hastily to one gap we would hold it, until the information that the rebels were going to another would cause a forced march for that. What would have taken place, if we had happened to strike a gap, just as half of Lee’s army had got through, is a thing which we did not think about at the time, but which we now see would have been rather unpleasant.

I will not enter upon the monotonous recital of the dreary marches that were performed in the three times in which we crossed the mountains, of the incessant rains, the horrible roads, the want of food! One meal a day was our usual allowance, and this generally consisted of bread (at a dollar a loaf), and apple butter. If we could get meat once in three days we accounted ourselves fortunate, and then the animal was driven into camp, shot, cut up, cooked and eaten in less time than it takes to write about it; and such meat, generally eaten without salt, was not very nourishing. Money was offered freely enough, but partly from the poorness of the country and partly from the ravages of the rebels, food could not be obtained. In this misery all the militia, whether New-Yorkers or Pennsylvanians, were common sufferers.

On the 6th day of July, we marched till late at night, expecting to cut off the rebel wagon-train at Newman’s Gap. It was as dark as Erebus, but the numerous lights, and the sounds that were heard as we approached, convinced all that the movement had been successful, perhaps a little too successful, for it was evident that there were more infantry than wagons in our front. The surgeons took possession of a house and hung out their flag, a few hurried preparations were made, and the regiments moved cautiously up, when the return of one of our scouts disclosed that the supposed enemy was only some of the Brooklyn regiments, who had taken a shorter road, and come in ahead of our brigade. Considerably disgusted at this intelligence, we turned off into the fields which bordered the road, hungry and tired enough, and slept in the long wet grass, till in the early gray of the morning, we were ordered to “forward.”

On reaching Newman’s Gap, we found that Lee’s rear-guard had passed through, about eight hours before we got there, and that the fight, so confidently expected at this point, was “off” for some time yet; but, though disappointed in this respect, we were compensated by obtaining something to eat; and in addition had the pleasure of having pointed out to us, no less than six houses, in all of which Longstreet had died the previous night, and two others, where he was yet lying mortally wounded.

On the 7th of July, after an unusually fatiguing march over muddy roads, rendered almost impracticable by the passage of Lee’s army, the division went into camp at Funkstown. The place selected was a level piece of ground in the midst of a beautiful grove, intersected by a rapid little brook, the whole forming one of the most comfortable spots imaginable. Rations had come up, and though we had to sleep on our arms for fear of an attack from Stuart’s cavalry, then in our neighborhood, we lay down in first rate spirits and slept the sleep of the just.

During the night it rained heavily; but too tired to wake up for any ordinary shower, we sheltered ourselves and our guns as best we might, and slept on. At about three o’clock it seemed as though the very fountains of the great deep had been broken up, and the rain came down in solid sheets, compelling the most tired to rise; we could stand a good deal, and, as one remarked, a common rain wasn’t anything, but when the water got so deep as to cover his nose, he woke up in disgust.

What a sight presented itself on rising! The beautiful grassy plain, level as a billiard-table, on which we had lain down so cheerfully the night before, was now a lake, beneath whose surface our guns, canteens, and other paraphernalia, were slowly disappearing; the little brook had become a torrent, almost equal to the far-famed Yellow Breeches, which a few Brooklyn boys were vainly endeavoring to ford, in order to rescue some of their traps swept away by its sudden overflow; the smooth grass had vanished, and on every side nothing was to be seen but mud, water, and wet and muddy soldiers.

From three to eleven o’clock A. M. that rain continued with unabated vigor. A fire was started under the shelter of a rubber blanket, and coffee made, which put new life into our limbs, and we became quite jolly. It is a noticeable fact, that where things become perfectly awful—when the mud is deepest and the rain the heaviest—there the spirits of the men appear to rise with the difficulties of the situation (except when they have nothing to eat), and they apparently enjoy themselves much more than if they were merely suffering from a temporary annoyance; and accommodate themselves to circumstances as though it was rather funny than otherwise; nevertheless, we were not in the least displeased when the order came to march.

On the 8th of