playing out, and frequently a song would be started and taken up by several companies, and swinging along by its rhythm would make the distance seem shorter and the time pass quicker. Few thought of the morrow, or realized that our hurried steps were taking us rapidly to the fated field where the hopes of the South were to be shattered. Going into camp near Manchester on the evening of June 30th we prepared for a good night's rest in the thick cool woods. We had our supper and spread our blankets, and were lounging about and chatting till bedtime, when an order came to pack up, and in a little time we moved out into the road and started on the longest continuous march we made during the war. About an hour after we started, while resting in the road, there was a noise in the direction from which we had come, and someone said “Look out for Rebel cavalry.” Instantly the whole column as far as I could see or hear, made a rush for the side of the road, and if there had been a squadron or two of Rebel cavalry coming along, they would have owned the road sure enough. On the evening of July 1st we rested a few hours and then marched all night long towards the field of Gettysburg. Passing Winchester, where we heard rumors of the day's battle and its disastrous result, we stepped off the weary miles which separated us from our comrades at the front. The night was dark so that crossing a little stream I got my feet wet, and soon they began to hurt me like the mischief. The dust worked into the shoes and wet socks, and irritated the blisters, and to me the miles grew longer and longer and my misery more intense and I longed for the daylight. When it came I went to the first water I could find, washed my feet, put on my last pair of socks and for a while was more comfortable. As soon as daylight fairly
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