1862.

It seems proper at this point to say a word or two about our experience in Maryland. We found the people cordial in their greeting and very hospitable, except in cases where the sentiment was against the Union. It meant a good deal to express Union sentiments or do acts of kindness to soldiers as they marched through the country, when some watchful person stood ready to turn informer as soon as the enemy approached. Many were the acts of kindness done to soldiers worn out with fatigue or overcome with the heat of the sun. Though thirty years have passed, we have not forgotten how much the Union people of Maryland did to lessen the hardships of soldiers. When we crossed the river we entered the land of our foes, where the cheers and kind wishes of the people were reserved for those who had their love and sympathy.

CHAPTER II.

1862.

Saturday,
March 1.

HAVING said the last "good-by" to our friends across the river we took up the line of march, about dusk, for Martinsburg, twelve miles, which point we reached a little before midnight.

During our stay in Williamsport we had accumulated more things than were necessary for our comfort, as we became painfully aware of before our journey's end. We were now on the "sacred soil” of Virginia. Whether it is better than any other soil could not be determined in the darkness; up to this time our knowledge of it was limited to the experience at Harper's Ferry, the skirmish at Bolivar Heights, and the reconnoissances from Hancock and Sir John's Run, so we were not experts on the subject.

The Sixteenth Indiana, a company of cavalry and two pieces of artillery, crossed the river and followed us to Martinsburg.

While marching in Maryland we felt secure from rebel interference when falling out, overcome with fatigue or the heat of the sun, but now we were likely at any moment to hear the unwelcome sound of the enemy's musketry. A man must hesitate, therefore, before he separated himself from his regiment. As it was dark we had plenty of opportunity to reflect on what might be our reception by the "F.F.V's" of Martinsburg. They might find some objection to our entering town without paying toll the toll that some of us must pay before our three years were up.

Company A was well ahead as advance guard, and as long as we heard nothing from them our minds remained at ease except when we thought of our knapsacks, which had increased in size, like the national debt.

It appears that when Company A arrived within half a mile of the town it left the road, making a détour and entering it from the

1862.

south on the Winchester road, while the regiment entered it from the north. The quartermaster, or some other officer, rode forward from the regiment to overtake Company A. As he entered from the north the company was entering from the south. Each mistook the other. Company A supposed him to be a rebel picket endeavoring to escape out of town and fired, whereupon, supposing it to be the fire of the enemy, he turned about in great haste and rode back to the regiment. For a few moments there was considerable confusion, but the officer in command stopped the firing until he could ascertain the facts, which were soon learned, and quiet restored. As no one was hurt it ended in a good laugh, though it has never been settled as to "who took Martinsburg."

After the regiment entered the town the band played “Yankee Doodle," "Glory Hallelujah," "Red, White, and Blue," and other patriotic airs for the benefit of those benighted citizens who preferred the secesh song, "Maryland, My Maryland," which we heard so frequently sung during the winter.

There is an interesting story about this song that deserves to be preserved. It was composed by James R. Randall, and was pronounced by James Russell Lowell to be the finest poem inspired by the war. In April, 1861, Mr. Randall, a native of Maryland, then residing in Louisiana, published "An Exiled Son's Appeal" to his mother State to cast her fortunes with the seceding States of the South. The political feeling was intense in Maryland, and the stirring words of this poem fired the hearts of thousands of her people. The idea of wedding it to music was suggested, but its peculiar metre refused to adapt itself to any familiar air that was thought of, until one evening in June 1861, in Baltimore, at a social meeting of well-known persons in sympathy with the South, Miss Hettie Cary, desirous of making the meeting a notable success, suggested that the words "Maryland, My Maryland," which at that time constituted the chief mental pabulum of the Southerners, be adapted to music. In order to render the suggestion more impressive she declaimed the verses, when her sister Jennie exclaimed, "Lauriger Horatius," the well-known college song, and Miss Hettie Cary at once sang the words to that music, whereupon everybody present joined, making