Steamers were at the wharf and as soon as it was known that a sufficient number of those whose destination was Richmond were discharged to load the vessel, we went aboard, landing at Richmond the evening of June 29, and walked up on to the streets, which for the most part were deserted, the city in ruins.

This was Richmond, on the majestic James—the proudest city of Virginia, for whose capture great armies had contended for nearly four years; not only the capital of Virginia, but of the Confederacy, doing more for the Confederate soldier than any other place in the South. Her people were intelligent and high minded and patriotic. I had seen her in her power and glory, but now in the ashes of her destruction, poverty and humiliation. I have since seen her in her opulence and more than her former greatness and glory.

On landing we found ourselves among a people as poor and destitute as we. With no money, no food, no place to stay, traveling without scrip or purse, we finally made our way to old Chimborazo Hospital, where we slept that night on the grass in the yard. The next morning early we made our way to the Danville depot, where a crowd of several hundred ex-Confederate soldiers were congregated, trying to get some kind of transportation home. An old, broken down engine was found by some one in the shop and some box cars in the yard, which were cobbled on, making up a train sufficient, by close packing inside the boxes and on top, to bear the crowd away. I, with others, concluded to try the top of a box car, as we would have more room and plenty of air, but the car, being covered with metal, the heat up there from both the sun and the metal on the car made it no very comfortable place. The engine, too cranky to do much pulling, stuck on the first grade, but after much labor it started again, making slow progress. Late in the evening we had a severe electric storm, accompanied by a heavy downpour of rain, giving those on the boxes a thorough drenching. Those of us going to Lynchburg left the train at Burkeville to make Farmville, which we did in time to catch another train of box cars which carried us to within six miles of Lynchburg, where we boarded a packet boat, getting into Lynchburg late in the evening. There we found quarters in a building called the "Soldiers' Home." We had little to eat that night, but more the next day, Sunday, having to remain over till Monday morning for a train that would carry us westward over the Virginia and Tennessee Railroad. Leaving on Monday morning, we reached Big Spring at the foot of the Alleghanies, where the railroad was again broken. By this time our numbers had been reduced to three—Leonard, of Carroll; Sam Lucas, of Giles, and the writer. We now trudged along afoot till we passed through Alleghany tunnel, where Lucas left us, turning to the right for his home. Leonard and I tramped on, dark overtaking us at Christiansburg depot, where, hungry and worn out, we sought the shades of a friendly oak and, with nothing to eat, lay down and went to sleep.

Our tramp was resumed early on Tuesday, July 4. After a mile or so, finding ourselves growing weaker and our hunger increasing, we then for the first time decided to beg, and succeeded in getting some bread and our canteens filled with milk, which we finished on the spot. Moving on, we crossed New River, on the partially destroyed railroad bridge, beyond which a mile or so we received another supply of milk. On reaching Dublin, my comrade and friend, Leonard, bidding me goodbye, took the left hand and I the right. I was now heading directly for home, and after walking about two and a half miles, it being about 2 P.M., I decided to sit down and rest. I propped myself against a small oak sapling by the roadside, and when I awoke the sun was behind the western mountains. Eight miles further on I reached the home of Mr. Thomas Shannon, who kindly took me in, fed me and gave me a bed. About 3 P.M. on the next day, Wednesday, July 5, 1865, four years, one month and twelve days from the day on which I had left for the war, I reached home—satisfied with my experience, with no more desire for war, yet proud of my record as a Confederate soldier, as I am to this day; with no apologies to make to anyone, as I, in common with my fellow soldiers, repudiate as unsound and baseless any charge of rebellion or treason in the war. We had resorted to the revolutionary right to establish separate government vouchsafed to us in the Declaration of Independence. I did not fight to destroy the government of the United States, nor for the perpetuation of the institution of slavery, for which I cared nothing, but did fight for four years of my young manhood for a principle I knew to be right. Had such not been true, I would not have risked my life, my all, therefor, nor have been a Virginia Confederate soldier.

I doubt not, had the South at any time during the contest agreed to return to the Union, that the Federal soldier would have thrown down his musket and gone home, for he was not fighting for the destruction of slavery, but for the preservation and restoration of the Union. I attach no blame to the brave Union soldier. He was as sincere and conscientious in the fight he made as was I in the one I made. We were both right from our respective viewpoints. With charity for all and malice towards none, this narrative is closed.

Chapter XXIX

The war was now ended, the issues involved settled and closed, so far as they could be by the sword. The Federal government had stood the test, proved itself too strong for the allied seceded states, overthrown their separate government, maintained by a separate people for four years, and established the fact that no state could secede or leave the Union unless by revolution and force of arms strong enough to defy and successfully resist the power of the general government. Slavery was abolished and could not exist among the American people. To accomplish these two things had cost thousands of lives, anguish, blood and billions of treasure.

With the close of the war the survivors of Company D who were either at home or in hospital when the war ended, or who had gotten home from the surrender at Appomattox, or had been released from military prisons, accepted the result of the conflict in good faith and again entered the pursuits of civil life. As they had been gallant soldiers, they became law-abiding, upright and worthy citizens. Numbers of the company had perished on the battlefield, in hospitals and in prison. Some were buried on the field where they fell, with no monument or slab to mark their last resting place, yet they died for a cause the justness of which they never for a moment doubted. The survivors lived to see their efforts for separate government defeated, the principles and the righteousness of the cause not lost, but the struggle to establish and maintain the same had failed. This failure is, however, no argument against the justness and right of the cause. No braver, nobler company of men had part in the contest than the company of which I write. Theirs was a sacrifice for liberty not to be gained and a struggle in which all was lost save honor and manhood.

Now (1914), nearly fifty years have passed since the close of the mighty conflict, and there remain alive of those brave men who stood on the firing line, baring their bosoms to the storm, but few, eighteen, so far as I know or can ascertain, and whose names are as follows: A. L. Fry, J. T. Frazier, John A. Hale, B. L. Hoge, James J. Hurt, David E. Johnston, —— Lewy, N. J. Morris, Thomas N. Mustain, A. C. Pack, William D. Peters, John W. Sarver, Alexander Skeens, Joseph Skeens, W. H. H. Snidow, Thomas J. Stafford, Gordon L. Wilburn and Jesse B. Young.