attempt at suicide—Clash with the 28th Maine—An interrupted sermon—Brownell's last words.

Chapter VII—Camp Parapet, La. 87 Captain Bostwick gets married—In the hospital at last—Good care and treatment—The slow process of getting well—The Ponchatoula trip—Mosquitoes and alligators. Chapter VIII—Port Hudson, La. 108 Good-bye, Camp Parapet—Going up the river—Stop at Springfield Landing—Before the works—Capt. Gifford missing—The first assault—Stealing honey—Scared by a snake—The second assault—The "Forlorn Hope"—Captain Gifford comes back—Vicksburg surrenders—Port Hudson follows suit—The laying down of arms. Chapter IX—Donaldsonville, La. 149 Leaving Port Hudson—Stop at Baton Rouge—At Donaldsonville—Living on the fat of the land—How sugar is made—Hickory Landing—Plaquemine—Baton Rouge. Chapter X—At New Orleans, La. 173 Good-bye to the 128th—Down the river to New Orleans—Looking for General Grant—Finding General Grant—Joined the Corps de Afrique—Franklin's expedition to Texas—The return trip—Pilot Town, La.—Easy times. Chapter XI—Brashear City, La. 184 Mustered into the service again—Waiting for orders—Up the Bayou Teche—Stealing a horse—Meeting the owner—At Mouton's Plantation—The return across the prairie—A sham battle—One kind of southern hospitality—Another kind of southern hospitality—Camp life at Brashear City. Chapter XII—The Louisiana Steam Cotton Press 230 In winter quarters—Dull times—The fortune-tellers—An old man's blessing—A pleasant surprise—Leave of absence—On board the steamer Creole—Seasick—Losing Henry Holmes—Wholesale visiting—Finding Henry Holmes. Chapter XIII—On Board the McClellan 272 The start for Dixie—The McClellan is not the Creole—A tough crowd—Man overboard—Martial law proclaimed—Arrest of the rioters—Storm at sea—Stop at Key West—In New Orleans again. Chapter XIV—The Red River Campaign 286 Camping on The Laurel Hill—At Port Hudson again—Meeting the 128th—Up the Red River to Alexandria—Two trips to Grand Ecore—The river falling—The dam at Alexandria—The burning of Alexandria. Chapter XV—The Red River Retreat 322 Guarding the pontoon train—Sleeping on feathers—Killing the goose—Forced marching—The fight at Yellow Bayou—Crossing the Atchafalaya—Another forced march—A raw beef supper—Footsore and weary. Chapter XVI—Camp at Morganzia, La. 332 On picket with the western men—Smallpox appears—A pay-day misunderstanding—Building Fort Morgan—Fourth of July dinner—General Order 88—The army moving away. Chapter XVII—Our Last Camp in the South 346 Leaving Morganzia—In camp near New Orleans—Good-bye, Dixie—Homeward bound.

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CHAPTER I
The Recruiting Camp

August 19, 1862.

Hudson Camp Grounds. I have enlisted! Joined the Army of Uncle Sam for three years, or the war, whichever may end first. Thirteen dollars per month, board, clothes and traveling expenses thrown in. That's on the part of my Uncle. For my part, I am to do, I hardly know what, but in a general way understand I am to kill or capture such part of the Rebel Army as comes in my way.

I wonder what sort of a soldier I will make; to be honest about it, I don't feel much of that eagerness for the fray I am hearing so much of about me.

It seems to me it is a serious sort of business I have engaged in. I was a long time making up my mind about it. This one could go, and that one, and they ought to, but with me, some way it was different. There was so much I had planned to do, and to be. I was needed at home, etc., etc. So I would settle the question for a time, only to have it come up to be reasoned away again, and each time my reasons for not taking my part in the job seemed less reasonable. Finally I did the only thing I could respect myself for doing,—went to Millerton, the nearest recruiting station, and enlisted.

I then threw down my unfinished castles, went around and bid my friends good-bye, and had a general settling up of my affairs, which, by the way, took but little time. But I never before knew I had so many friends. Everyone seemed to be my friend. A few spoke encouragingly, but the most of them spoke and acted about as I would expect them to, if I were on my way to the gallows. Pity was so plainly shown that when I had gone the rounds, and reached home again, I felt as if I had been attending my own funeral. Poor old father and mother! They had expected it, but now that it had come they felt it, and though they tried hard, they could not hide from me that they felt it might be the last they would see of their baby.

Then came the leaving it all behind. I cannot describe that. The good-byes and the good wishes ring in my ears yet. I am not myself. I am some other person. My surroundings are new, the sights and sounds about me are new, my aims and ambitions are new;—that is if I have any. I seem to have reached the end. I can look backwards, but when I