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[508] the march through the rich fields of Maryland. The country people lined the roads, gazing in open-eyed wonder upon the long lines of infantry, that filled the road for miles, and as far as the eye could reach, was the glitter of the swaying points of the bayonets. It was the first ragged Rebels they had ever seen, and though they did not act either as friends or foes, still they gave liberally, and every haversack was full that day at least. No houses were entered — no damage was done, and the farmers in the vicinity must have drawn a long breath as they saw how safe their property was in the very midst of the army.

On the 10th the Seventeenth defiled through the long avenue of Frederick City, and we were rather disappointed at our reception, which was decidedly cool. This wasn't what we expected. It is true the streets were generally well filled with citizens, and the balconies and porches too, but there was positively no enthusiasm, no cheers, no waving handkerchiefs and flags — instead a death-like silence — some houses were closed tight, as if some public calamity had taken place; there were many friendly people in the windows and doors, but they seemed afraid to make any manifestation of their feelings — only smiling covertly.

The marching soldiery did not imitate the cautious silence of the Frederick Citizens; they had full haversacks, and therefore light hearts, jokes, witicisms, and badinage flew from lip to lip, and some one striking up a song, it was chanted by the brigade, and in that way we went through the most loyal city in Maryland.

The following intercepted letter, from a Union lady in Frederick to a friend in Baltimore, thus speaks of the passage of our army.

Frederick City, Maryland, September 13th, 1862.
I wish, my dearest Minnie, you could have witnessed the transit of the Rebel army through our streets a day or two ago. Their coming was unheralded by any pomp and pageant whatever. No bursts of martial music greeted your ear, no thundering sound of canon, no brilliant staff, no glittering cortege dashed through the streets, instead came three long dirty columns, that kept on in an unceasing flow. I could scarcely believe my eyes; was this body of men moving so smoothly along, with no order, their guns carried in every fashion, no two dressed alike, their officers hardly distinguishable from the privates — were these, I asked myself in amazement, were these dirty, lank, ugly specimens of humanity, with shocks of hair sticking through the holes in their hats, and the dust thick on their dirty faces, the men that had

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