Jim Diamond and I did as we had always done—joined our fortunes—and taking a kind of byway we soon were away from any soldiers. We considered it so much better to leave the highways and public roads, as on the private ways we would stand a much better chance to get something to eat. We found this plan to work very well, and during the whole distance and time we took to get home we never went hungry. At times we would strike a highway for a short distance when we would run upon a lot of fellows tramping for their homes, some of whom had to go so far as Texas. How they ever lasted that long and held out to make such a distance I can't conceive.

We would generally stop at nearly every house we passed and beg for something to eat, or for milk or buttermilk; and there being only two of us, we were hardly ever refused, consequently, we never wanted. After so long a time we were in the neighborhood of Danville, Va. We concluded to go by and take in the place and see what was going on there. We reached Danville early in the morning and found an immense crowd—it seemed that all of us had taken in the place. Not long after we reached the city we determined to charge a store in which there were some government goods, and a big crowd soon gathered. It did not take long to batter down the doors and get in. Then the scramble began. There were bacon, meal, molasses, clothes, blankets and everything else. The way the men got the molasses was by knocking out the head of the hogshead and dipping in their canteens. In one instance the pressure around a hogshead was so great that one fellow next to the barrel, being pressed so tight, was raised off his feet; but he deliberately stepped over into the barrel, standing up in the molasses to his waist. He filled his canteen and then crawled out.

Jim and I got in this raid a small piece of bacon, some meal, a couple of army blankets and a McClelland saddle. We then went on down town to the depot and found a train of cars standing on the track headed southwards. The engine was fired up and every available space, inside and outside and on top, was taken, and all that was necessary to move off was an engineer. Just away from where this train stood was a magazine, filled with all manner of explosive missiles. In some manner this magazine caught and soon the explosion occurred and pieces of shells were flying in every direction. Then those who were on the train began to get away—some even jumping through the car windows, others from the top. While this was at its worst a Texan jumped on the engine and cried out, "I am an engineer; I can run it. Give me a fireman." Immediately someone answered his call. In the meantime, as the others jumped off, making room, Jim and I got on, and our Texas engineer pulled out amid the confusion from the live magazine. Whether he knew much about handling an engine or not, he did certainly let it run, stopping for no place nor for nothing, until just before reaching Salisbury, N. C., an axle to the tender broke. This, of course, put an end to our ride. Deserting the train, leaving it on the track, we again pulled out afoot. We had, however, made a good many miles, which did us much good. In due course of time we struck the neighborhood of Charlotte, N. C., and desired to "take in" that city, too, for we wanted to see and hear what might be going on in the world, we having confined all our movements to country roads and country houses. We went into Charlotte, and, having our haversacks well filled, we were in no hurry. We loafed around the town taking in the sights. Here again we met a large crowd of Lee's paroled men, and here again we made a raid on some government stores. But as we had plenty to eat we didn't take much hand in it. However, we got a bolt of real good jeans—about all we did get.

Jim had traded his saddle before reaching Charlotte, consequently, we were not hampered with carrying that. We left the city before dark and continued our course south, regardless of where we would strike next. Sometimes we had to go some distance to get a ferry across a river, and in one or two instances a farmer would take us over in his batteau. We were faring right well, and, as neither of us had a wife and children awaiting our coming, we did not push hard after leaving Charlotte. The next town I recollect passing through was Newberry. We heard of the assassination of President Lincoln at Charlotte. On reaching Newberry early in the morning we were the wonder of the town. They had not heard of the surrender of Lee nor of Lincoln's death. It seemed as if the town turned out to see us.

We stopped here only long enough for Jim to get a shave, the barber doing it for nothing. We slept in a farmer's barn that night about eight miles from Newberry. This farmer gave us supper and next morning breakfast. And we went on our way rejoicing. Our next stop was at a farmer's house in now Saluda County—Mr. Ready—on the Columbia and Augusta Railroad. He was an old bachelor and made us come in his house, giving us supper, bed and breakfast, and an early start the next morning. Besides, he gave us directions how to get to Pine Log Bridge, across the Edisto River. We crossed the Edisto in the afternoon and took that big old sandy road for White Pond. Reaching that place, just before sundown, we went on our way, and between sundown and dark we stopped at a little log cabin, asking for something to eat and telling the lady, Mrs. Beach, that we would sleep in the pines. This she would not consent to, but made us walk in, prepared supper, made us down a pallet in front of the fire. Before going to bed she told us her husband was a soldier, too, belonging to Lamar's Second South Carolina Artillery, with Johnston's Army. She had not heard from him since they left Charleston. Beach did get home all right.

Next morning she was up bright and early and gave us breakfast and Godspeed. It was now only a few miles before we would reach the forks of the road where Jim and I would part, he going to Barnwell and I to Joyce's Branch, ten miles above Barnwell. The nearer we reached this fork of the road the more serious we would become. We had eaten and slept together for nearly three years—had shared privations together, and in prosperity we divided with each other; and now, we were on the verge of parting, perhaps never to see each other again. We had been passing the burnt houses, done by Sherman in his march, and we did not know what we might find at our homes; but we well knew there were hard times ahead of us. At last, we arrived at the parting place, and, by common instinct, we determined to make the parting short. Jim took the bolt of jeans from his shoulders, where he had it slung, told me to pull it out, and then, doubling it in the middle, cut it in two. This was all. Without saying a word more, we shook hands and turned off quickly. Jim had about twelve miles to Barnwell; I about ten to Joyce's Branch. I reached home just as they had finished dinner. They, too, had not heard of Lee's surrender. They hunted me up some old clothes, sent me to an outhouse to wash and clean up, and then buried my suit of Confederate gray, as that was the best thing to do with it. I was very much gratified to find that Sherman's raiders had not gotten as high up as our place. The nearest they came, however, was only one and a half miles off towards Barnwell. I found that none of our negroes had run off, but all were at home making a crop, and mother had a good supply of "hog and hominy."

There were, however, about a dozen cases of smallpox on the place, left by some straggler, the most of which was among the negroes. I was not afraid of it, having been well vaccinated while below Richmond, and I did not hesitate to go right in to it and help all those who had it, both white and black. It was but a few days before my sisters had me a real nice suit of clothes, made from the jeans we had raided at Charlotte and divided at the forks of the road. The first time I went to Barnwell I saw Jim Diamond in his suit made from the other part.

Now, the war is over, and we are again civilians. My reminiscences of a private are at an end. There are things I should have written in these had they occurred to me at the right time, and perhaps there are things that might have been left out. But when I would take my seat to write I did not know what I intended saying. It seemed to come to me by inspiration, and I would just write as fast as pencil could go. I will have to ask the public to be charitable in reading this. Recollect, I went into the war a mere country boy, fourteen and a half years old, and returned to a ruined, desolate and impoverished country at eighteen years and six months old.