foreign born, my mother being Scotch and my father a north of Ireland
man,--as I remember him, now, impulsive, hasty in action, and slow to
confess a fault. It was his impulsiveness that led him to volunteer
and serve four years in the Confederate army,--trying years to my
mother, with a brood of seven children to feed, garb, and house. The
war brought me my initiation as a cowboy, of which I have now, after
the long lapse of years, the greater portion of which were spent with
cattle, a distinct recollection. Sherman's army, in its march to the
sea, passed through our county, devastating that section for miles in
its passing.

Foraging parties scoured the country on either side of its path. My
mother had warning in time and set her house in order. Our work stock
consisted of two yoke of oxen, while our cattle numbered three cows,
and for saving them from the foragers credit must be given to my
mother's generalship. There was a wild canebrake, in which the cattle
fed, several hundred acres in extent, about a mile from our little
farm, and it was necessary to bell them in order to locate them when
wanted. But the cows were in the habit of coming up to be milked, and
a soldier can hear a bell as well as any one. I was a lad of eight at
the time, and while my two older brothers worked our few fields, I was
sent into the canebrake to herd the cattle. We had removed the bells
from the oxen and cows, but one ox was belled after darkness each
evening, to be unbelled again at daybreak. I always carried the bell
with me, stuffed with grass, in order to have it at hand when wanted.

During the first few days of the raid, a number of mounted foraging
parties passed our house, but its poverty was all too apparent, and
nothing was molested. Several of these parties were driving herds of
cattle and work stock of every description, while by day and by night