From Chantilly, or Ox Hill, as this battle was called by Confederates and Federals, respectively, we reached Leesburg, the county-seat, by a march of thirty miles due north into Loudoun County, and a mile or two east of this attractive town went into bivouac about sunset in a beautiful grassy meadow which afforded what seemed to us a downy couch, and to the horses luxuriant pasturage, recalling former and better days. Next morning, while lying sound asleep wrapped in my blanket, I became painfully conscious of a crushing weight on my foot. Opening my eyes, there stood a horse almost over me, quietly cropping the grass, with one forefoot planted on one of mine. Having no weapon at hand, I motioned and yelled at him most lustily. Being the last foot put down, it was the last taken up, and, turning completely around, he twisted the blanket around the calks of his shoe, stripped it entirely off of me, and dragged it some yards away. There being no stones nor other missiles available, I could only indulge in a storm of impotent rage, but, notwithstanding the trampling I had undergone, was able "to keep up with the procession."
The morning was a beautiful one, the sun having just risen in a clear sky above the mists overhanging and marking the course of the Potomac a mile to the east, and lighting up the peaks of the Blue Ridge to the west. The country and scenery were not unlike, and equal to the prettiest parts of the Valley. Circling and hovering overhead, calling and answering one another in their peculiarly plaintive notes, as if disturbed by our presence, were the gray plover, a bird I had never before seen. All in all, the environment was strikingly peaceful and beautiful, and suggestive of the wish that the Federals, whom we had literally whipped out of their boots and several other articles of attire, and who had now returned to their own country, would remain there, and allow us the same privilege.
But General Lee took a different view of it, and felt that the desired object would be more effectually accomplished by transferring the war into their own territory. So before noon we were again "trekking," and that, too, straight for the Potomac. Orders had again been issued forbidding the cannoneers riding on the caissons and limbers; but, in crossing the Potomac that day, as the horses were in better shape and the ford smooth, Captain Poague gave us permission to mount and ride over dry-shod. For which breach of discipline he was put under arrest and for several days rode--solemn and downcast--in rear of the battery, with the firm resolve, no doubt, that it was the last act of charity of which he would be guilty during the war. Lieutenant Graham was in command.