are not expected to go."

It was most fortunate that my wife had not come. I had recently
been appointed chaplain of Hampton Hospital, Virginia, by
President Lincoln, and was daily expecting my confirmation by the
Senate. I had fully expected to give my wife a glimpse of army
life in the field, and then to enter on my new duties. To go or
not to go was a question with me that night. The raid certainly
offered a sharp contrast with the anticipated week's outing with
my bride. I did not possess by nature that kind of courage which
is indifferent to danger; and life had never offered more
attractions than at that time. I have since enjoyed Southern
hospitality abundantly, and hope to again, but then its prospect
was not alluring. Before morning, however, I reached the decision
that I would go, and during the Sunday forenoon held my last
service in the regiment. I had disposed of my horse, and so had to
take a sorry beast at the last moment, the only one I could
obtain.

In the dusk of Sunday evening four thousand men were masked in the
woods on the banks of the Rapidan. Our scouts opened the way by
wading the stream and pouncing upon the unsuspecting picket of
twenty Confederates opposite. Then away we went across a cold,
rapid river, marching all that night through the dim woods and
openings in a country that was emphatically the enemy's. Lee's
entire army was on our right, the main Confederate cavalry force
on our left. The strength of our column and its objective point
could not remain long unknown.

In some unimportant ways I acted as aid for Kilpatrick. A few