securing four sections. I had younger brothers growing up, and the
year my oldest brother attained his majority my father outfitted him
with teams, wagons, and two trusty negro men, and we started for the
nearest point on the Ohio River, our destination being the new lands
in the West. We embarked on the first boat, drifting down the Ohio,
and up the other rivers, reaching the Ultima Thule of our hopes within
a month. The land was new; I liked it; we lived on venison and wild
turkeys, and when once we had built a log house and opened a few
fields, we were at peace with the earth.

But this happy existence was of short duration. Rumors of war reached
us in our western elysium, and I turned my face homeward, as did many
another son of Virginia. My brother was sensible enough to remain
behind on the new farm; but with nothing to restrain me I soon found
myself in St. Louis. There I met kindred spirits, eager for the coming
fray, and before attaining my majority I was bearing arms and wearing
the gray of the Confederacy. My regiment saw very little service
during the first year of the war, as it was stationed in the western
division, but early in 1862 it was engaged in numerous actions.

I shall never forget my first glimpse of the Texas cavalry. We had
moved out from Corinth, under cover of darkness, to attack Grant at
Pittsburg Landing. When day broke, orders were given to open out and
allow the cavalry to pass ahead and reconnoitre our front. I had
always felt proud of Virginian horsemanship, but those Texans were in
a class by themselves. Centaur-like they sat their horses, and for our
amusement, while passing at full gallop, swung from their saddles and
picked up hats and handkerchiefs. There was something about the Texans
that fascinated me, and that Sunday morning I resolved, if spared, to
make Texas my future home. I have good cause to remember the battle of