As the head of the regiment struck Maryland soil the boys cheered. They sang "John Brown's Body," until the chorus rolled from the end of the line. Then was heard the old hymn, "We're Going Home to Die no More." Alas, yes—nearly one out of six of them was to be left dead at Gettysburg, and scores of them writhing in pain.
They were in a new country. Virginia's neglected acres gave way to fields of corn and waving wheat yellow and nearly ready for harvest.
Monocacy was passed and the column filed through a narrow gorge and took the road to Jeffersonville. The boys of G felt well and indulged in much nonsense, similar to this—
"When are you going to cut your wheat, Steve?" inquires Doc White.
"I expect to begin the first of the week," replies Harrington.
"Orderly," says Zerne to Jim Johnson, "I think I see a rebel at that house over yonder. You will take Loucks and Wise and surround them."
"—— —— —— ——!" from Jim.
And so they moved along. Think kindly of them, reader; they are rough, but their hearts are right. They have followed a tedious road for many miles to fight for Lenox, for humanity—South and North—to save the Union and free the Negroes. The little part they have in the great drama entitles them to recognition, and to a mite of sympathy.
Rain set in toward night making the roads slippery. Plenty of new-mown hay was at hand, also good, seasoned rails in abundance. Maryland farmers grumbled some at such wanton destruction. It was a Union officer who pointed to his empty sleeve and said to the complaining farmer—
"Your crops will grow again, your woods will supply you with rails. This sleeve will always remain empty."