I looked and recognized a Federal Sergeant, whom I had befriended while en route with him and many other Federal prisoners from East Tennessee to Richmond.  I replied: 

“My dear fellow, I know, under the circumstances, you will excuse me when I tell you that I am truly sorry that I cannot return the compliment.”

I was ordered to the rear under guard of one soldier.  I was turned over to the provost guard.  My other sword was demanded.  Of course I gave it up without a word.  My emotions were too intense for utterance.  I was a disarmed, helpless prisoner of war.  My feelings can better be described by relating an incident which occurred later on.  After Lee’s surrender, a few uncompromising, unconquered Confederates attempted to make their way to Johnston’s Army in North Carolina.  The way was full of obstacles, and one of the party, nearly overcome, sat with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, when a comrade accosted him with—­

“Hello, John, what is the matter with you?”

“O, I was just thinking,” replied John.

“Well, what in the world were you thinking so deeply about that you were lost to every other environment?”

“Well, Jim, to tell you the truth, I was thinking I wished I was a woman.”

“Wish you were a woman!  Great Scotts, John, are you gone crazy?  A brave soldier like you wishing to be a woman!”

“Now, Jim, I’ll tell you the truth; if I were a woman I could just cry as much as I pleased, and no one would think that I was a fool.”

I felt very much like John.  I wished I was a woman, so that I could cry as much as I pleased.

That night all the prisoners were marched to General Sheridan’s headquarters, where we went into camp without supper.  Some said their prayers, while others cursed the Yankees inaudibly, of course.  Next morning we were lined up and counted.  Eleven hundred Confederates answered at Sheridan’s roll call.  It looked like Kershaw’s whole Brigade was there, though there were many Georgians among us.  Sheridan then inspected the prisoners, and at his personal instance—­shame be it said to his memory—­we were all robbed of our good blankets and dirty, worn out ones given in their stead.

After the inspection by Sheridan, we began the march (we knew not where to) under a heavy guard—­a whole regiment of infantry to guard eleven hundred prisoners.  This guard was old soldiers, who knew how to treat a prisoner.  They were kind to us.  Nothing of special interest occurred on this day.  We arrived at Winchester about sundown.  We got some rations, ate supper, lay down to sleep, when we were hurriedly aroused and ordered to “fall in line quickly,” “fall in,” “fall in.”

“What is the trouble?” I ventured to ask.

“Mosby!  Mosby is coming.”