At nine o’clock next morning we reached Hagerstown, but were hurried on through it to within one mile of Williamsport, Md., where we were allowed a few hours of repose. The suffering among us from fatigue and exhaustion, owing to the fearful rate at which we had been marched, and from hunger and wet, and in many cases from wounds, may readily be conceived. All along the road from Hagerstown to Williamsport we noticed indications of General Kilpatrick’s cavalry dash into Hagerstown. Our dead cavalrymen were lying in the road, on either side of it, completely stripped of their clothing, and dead horses, broken caissons, and other remains of the conflict, were scattered here and there. The excessive rains which had set in on the 4th, had not yet ceased, it poured in torrents day and night. Whilst we lay near Williamsport, rations of flour and beef were distributed among us. We were, of course, compelled to do our own cooking. We roasted the beef on the end of a stick, and mixed the flour into paste with water, and baked it on stones in front of the fire. The wretched condition of our commissariat continued unimproved during all the rest of our journey through the valley of Virginia. On the 8th we were marched through Williamsport to the rope-ferry, on the Potomac. The river, swollen by the recent rains, was not crossable at any of the neighboring fords. This rope-ferry was, at that time, the only means the Rebels had of crossing the stream. The crossing was a slow and tedious process, though no doubt more so to the Rebels than to ourselves, for we felt that after the Potomac should be between us and our army there would be no hope of rescue, and but few opportunities for escape. We have been told that once on Virginia soil our march to Staunton would be made by easy stages, and that the provisions furnished us would be more abundant, and of better quality. Neither of these conditions, however, was realized. All the stores which could be collected were needed by their army, and even our guards fared but little better than ourselves. By the 11th, we had reached a place called Washington Springs, five miles from Winchester. Here we first saw, in a copy of the Richmond Enquirer, the official report of the surrender of Vicksburg to General Grant. A round of hearty cheers went up from our column, and we pushed forward on our weary journey with a lighter heart, in spite of shoeless and bleeding feet, for we knew what joy was thrilling, at that moment, the great Union heart of the nation. On the 13th, a portion of General Imboden’s command took charge of our column. The guard consisted of Captain McNeil’s Partisan Rangers, Captain Patterson’s Company of Cavalry, and the 61st Virginia State Militia. We were repeatedly compelled to countermarch through the fields, the streams which traversed the road being much swollen with the recent rains; in passing Newtown, the turnpike was impracticable, owning to this cause, and we were forced to wade waist-deep through mud and water. By the 16th, we had reached Harrisonburg, having marched successively through Middletown, Strasburg, Woodstock, Mount Jackson, and New Market. Three miles beyond Harrisonburg we were shown a tree with an inscription upon it, which marks the spot where the Rebel, Ashby, of cavalry fame, fell the previous year. In our march through the several towns we had often drawn upon the wrath of the inhabitants, especially the women, who more than once taunted us with remarks not calculated to prove very gratifying to our ears. Here and there, however, a Union handkerchief was waved to us from some solitary window, and sometimes a fair face would bestow upon us a commiserative glance, or a sweet voice would bid us be of good cheer. On the morning of the 18th, our jaded column entered the town of Staunton from the Winchester road. We were a squalid set, way-worn and weary, and covered with the dust of a long foot-travel; with haggard faces, and uncombed hair; some carrying their wounded arms in slings; many with bare and lacerated feet; all bearing the unmistakable impress of the days of hunger, exposure, and fatigue, through which we had just passed. We had been marched on foot a distance of nearly two hundred miles, through the mud and the heavy rains, through the dust and under the scorching summer sun; for near three weeks we had lived chiefly on flour-paste and water; we had been swept along in hurried marches with the retreating columns of Rebel Army through Maryland, and slept night after night under pouring rains, and had finally walked the whole length of the great Valley of Virginia, over its stony hills and through its swollen streams, to the sources of the Shenandoah. It was a beautiful country through which we had just passed, but it had presented no charms to the weary eyes that were compelled to view it through a line of hostile bayonets; we felt but little sympathy for the beautiful; on our haggard countenances only this was written: “Give us rest, and food.”
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