"When did I authorize you to steal?" He said: "At Stone River, you ride up and you say, 'Stand up to them, 6th Kentucky, and you may steal for six months?'"' I could hear the crowd of men behind me laughing, but remembering the occasion, I told him to stand aside, and his evident disappointment added to the mirth of the bystanders.

The men were being steadily brought in, and finally the guard brought forward a fine looking young man of the 41st Ohio. He had the half of a calf he had found and killed. I ordered him to throw it down on the heap and he did so. He stood very respectfully for a few minutes, and then said: "General, arn't you going to let me have my meat?" I answered: "No; you break ranks, go out and rob the people, and then expect to have the result of your robbery!" To my surprise, the tears ran down his cheeks. I said: "You great overgrown booby, are you crying about a thing of this kind?” and he replied, "General, I have had nothing to eat since yesterday morning; we had to march before. the orderly distributed the rations." I sent for his orderly sergeant, who confirmed the statement. I gave him his veal and a cup of salt, but felt that my authority was subverted-I had been laughed out of the hog, and cried out of the calf. I summoned the brigade commissaries and they divided the supplies to the satisfaction of all parties. For a long time afterwards I could occasionally hear the dialogue between the little Dutchman and myself slyly repeated.

CHAPTER XV.

Manchester-Governor of Tennessee-Union refugees-Cross the Tennessee river-Lookout mountain-Ringgold-Battle of Chickamauga-Colonel Robinson-Return from Chickamauga-Russell's battery-Fatal order.

On July 8th, we returned to Manchester on the line of railroad from Tullahoma to McMinnville, where we remained for some three weeks refitting, for further operations.

I remember nothing more pleasant in my camp experience than the time spent at Manchester. I found there some acquaintances made before the war, and met relatives of friends residing in Macoupin, Montgomery and Bond counties in Illinois. The young men were mostly absent in either the Rebel or Union armies, while the men at home were chiefly for the Union. They were exceedingly friendly, and visited the camp in large numbers.

The Confederate army had so exhausted the country that my hospitality was severely taxed. My rations of coffee and the usual army trimmings were very acceptable to the women, and the commissary whisky, of which the supply was abundant, was enjoyed by the men.

We talked of politics and of Illinois, of which they had heard something, and the state lost nothing by my accounts of its fertility and prosperity. The election for governor and other state officers of Tennessee was near at hand, and my visitors requested me to remain and be a candidate for governor of Tennessee. In fact, a delegation from "Hubbard's Cove," which was a beautiful place at the base of the Cumberland mountains, followed me a day's ride to tender me the votes of Grundy county if I would stay and be a candidate for the office. I was

then in motion for the Sequatchie valley, and was compelled to decline the honor.

On August 5th, I moved under orders for Dunlap in the valley on the Sequatchie river. We made a short day's march, and camped for the night at a place called Villanow, and next morning a guide reported to me to conduct us to "Irving College" on Collins river.

I proposed to my guide to take my escort and move across the mountains by way of Altamont, as being more direct, and leave my division to move up by the turnpike, but he declined to guide me over that route for what seemed to be a very satisfactory reason.

When I made the suggestion, he answered, "I suppose you know the mountain is full of guerrillas." I said, "Yes, but they claim to be Union guerrillas, don't they?" He answered with a smile, "Yes, they do; but if a man with a good coat on his back tries to pass through there, they wouldn't care for its color. All they would hate would be to put a bullet hole through it to get it off of him." I did n't go by that route.

We reached Irving College in the afternoon, and found one of the loveliest spots I ever saw. It is but a short distance from the Cumberland mountains, from which it is separated by the Collins river.

A well-constructed turnpike leading from McMinnsville over the mountains passes through the valley. The college building was a brick school room of no great extent, which was surrounded by wooden dormitories. I found there a lady, wife of the president of the institution, who had some years before, as Miss Harriet Whitaker, been a teacher in the public schools at Carlinville, Illinois. She invited me to take supper with her, which I did. She had little, but it was well prepared. Just before we took our seats at the table, she knelt down in front of a fire-place, raised a short board in the floor, reached down a full arm's length and brought her silver spoons into view. I asked, "why she had placed them there?" She answered with a confused smile, "I

heard you were coming, and did not want you to be tempted."

Next morning, we resumed our march and ascended the Cumberland mountains. We had passed hills before, but this was my first experience in mountain operations. The roads were excellent, and by two o'clock in the afternoon, artillery and baggage had reached the top of the mountain, and then we marched for ten or twelve miles on a level road with houses and farms on both sides and no great distance apart.

A number of Union refugees were with us, who took advantage of our march to return home. I witnessed many of the reunions of those men with their families, and found one dying man, who had been shot by the guerrillas, who was falling back before us.

I was informed, on reliable authority, that in the bloody feuds between the Union men and the Rebels, that at least thirty men had been killed in the neighborhood of the point where we reached the top of the Cumberland mountains.

We spent one night on the mountain, and next day reached Dunlap, where the brigades of the division remained until the 30th of August. I marched with Hazen's brigade over Waldon's ridge, which equals the Cumberland mountain in height and width, and with the brigade took possession at Poe' tavern, in the valley of the Tennessee river, some fifteen miles from Chattanooga. I remained with the brigade a day or two, reconnoitered the Tennessee river, and found the Rebels in full force on the east bank at the ferries, and then returned to Dunlap. The Sequatchie valley lies between the Cumberland mountains and Waldron's ridge, and at Dunlap does not exceed three miles in width. It is very fertile, and the Sequatchie, a small stream, traverses its whole length.

The able-bodied men of the valley were nearly all in one or the other of the armies; the men who remained at home, with a few notable exceptions, were loyal. The

best evidence of the loyalty of the men of the valley was found in the language and conduct of the women.

On the 31st of August, we commenced marching down the Sequatchie valley and camped on the Little Sequatchie. Cruft moved to Shellmound and crossed the Tennessee river on a ferry boat with Gross's brigade. I moved to the mouth of Battle creek; rafts were constructed from the cedar logs of houses there, and with the mules swimming, and a rope stretched across the river, the brigade, its artillery and baggage, was crossed over, and we marched to Shellmound and joined Cruft, and then pushed forward rapidly, with the hope of saving the railroad bridge over Running Water creek. We were too late, the Rebels had fired the bridge, and it was falling when we reached. We then moved up Running Water creek to Coles' academy, and then crossed into the Lookout valley, where, employing ourselves in reconnoissances in the direction of the enemy, we remained until the 8th of September; and, as Bragg vacated Chattanooga on the 8th, we moved forward in order to occupy that place, and then really entered upon the campaign which included the operations that led to and followed the battle of Chickamauga, and the ultimate total defeat of the Rebel army at Missionary ridge.

The history of this memorable campaign has been written by so many, with all necessary fullness, and with such approximate accuracy, that I will attempt no more than to give an account of my own connection with the campaign, and make only such reference to the acts of others as is necessary in order to make myself understood. There are, too, minor matters of history that may be profitably stated, not on account of their own value, but of the relation they have to more important events.

I will mention some of these matters, partly because they are personal to myself, and partly because they may possess of themselves some, though a subordinate, interest.