spring, each man made a little wad of dough—­unsalted—­and spreading it upon a flat stone or a chip, set it up in front of the fire to bake.  As soon as it was browned on one side, it was pulled off the stone, and the other side turned to the fire.  It was a very primitive way of cooking and I became thoroughly disgusted with it.  It was fortunate for me that I little dreamed that this was the way I should have to get my meals for the next fifteen months.

After somewhat of the edge had been taken off our hunger by this food, we crouched around the fires, talked over the events of the day, speculated as to what was to be done with us, and snatched such sleep as the biting cold would permit.

CHAPTER VI.

“On to Richmond!”—­Marching on foot over the mountains—­my horse has A new rider—­unsophisticated mountain girls—­discussing the issues of the war—­parting with “Hiatoga.”

At dawn we were gathered together, more meal issued to us, which we cooked in the same way, and then were started under heavy guard to march on foot over the mountains to Bristol, a station at the point where the Virginia and Tennessee Railroad crosses the line between Virginia and Tennessee.

As we were preparing to set out a Sergeant of the First Virginia cavalry came galloping up to us on my horse!  The sight of my faithful “Hiatoga” bestrid by a Rebel, wrung my heart.  During the action I had forgotten him, but when it ceased I began to worry about his fate.  As he and his rider came near I called out to him; he stopped and gave a whinny of recognition, which seemed also a plaintive appeal for an explanation of the changed condition of affairs.

The Sergeant was a pleasant, gentlemanly boy of about my own age.  He rode up to me and inquired if it was my horse, to which I replied in the affirmative, and asked permission to take from the saddle pockets some letters, pictures and other trinkets.  He granted this, and we became friends from thence on until we separated.  He rode by my side as we plodded over the steep, slippery hills, and we beguiled the way by chatting of the thousand things that soldiers find to talk about, and exchanged reminiscences of the service on both sides.  But the subject he was fondest of was that which I relished least:  my—­now his—­horse.  Into the open ulcer of my heart he poured the acid of all manner of questions concerning my lost steed’s qualities and capabilities:  would he swim? how was he in fording? did he jump well! how did he stand fire?  I smothered my irritation, and answered as pleasantly as I could.