The next day one of our guards, a boy about fifteen years of age, entered into conversation with me. After talking some time, he invited me to go with him to his father's house for dinner. Securing permission, I went.
His father's name was McMichael, and again I found a Union man, who was forced to be a Confederate or lose all he had in the world. We had a good dinner and an enjoyable chat. I learned that he had three boys in the Confederate service, the youngest, who had given me the invitation to dine, being in the home guard. His daughter was a school-teacher. The wife and this girl ate with us, and all seemed very anxious and joyous to learn of the successes of the Union forces, although the mother's eyes frequently filled with tears as something was said which recalled to her mind the risk run by her boys at the front. I cannot recall the memory of a meal which I enjoyed any better than the one I ate in that old farmhouse with those agreeable people.
While at dinner the parents seemed disturbed by thoughts of the possibility that their last boy would also be sent to the front, and it was then and there agreed between us that if such should be the case he would desert at the first opportunity and go to my home at Blakesburg, Iowa, where he should attend school until the war was ended. The proposal affected the parents and sister strongly when I made it, and in agreeing to it they united in thanking and blessing me for the happy thought and accompanying offer.
When the time came for me to leave it seemed like a parting with dear friends, and I often recall and see again that dear old lady's face, as, with tears in her eyes, she bade me "Godspeed."
By the time our march was resumed we had become very familiar with our guards, and, in fact, it was more of a picnic excursion than a march of guards with their prisoners.
Each of us slept at night with one of the soldiers, and we went on several midnight expeditions in company. One night we raided a farmhouse and stole a sack of sweet potatoes, sitting up half the night to roast them. Another night we confiscated a beehive and secured some delicious honey. We were continually playing jokes upon each other, and all hands were sorry when the time came to separate.
We fooled along, taking things very easily, and finally reached Camp Ford about thirty days after leaving Boston.
Our reception by the boys in the stockade was characteristic of men continually seeking to find something to do which would serve to kill time and prevent despondency.
When we were marched up to the gates we were recognized by many in the enclosure, and were hailed by shouts, jeers, sarcastic questionings and all sorts of welcomes.
"How are things up North? How did you leave the folks? Got any mail? Can't you stay awhile?" and many other similar queries were fairly showered upon us.