YEARS after these events, when white-winged peace hovered o’er all the land, while conning my geography lesson at school, and trying to fix in my mind that the city of Constantinople is situated on the Sea of Marmora, that night of hunger came back to me vividly, and the stern-wheel steamer Marmora, with her lights reflected in the broad bosom of the Ohio, loomed up before me with a reality never to be forgotten.

The dear mother who made that long, and in those days perilous, journey, with the care of two little children, has gone to her reward, borne to her last resting place by six honored and respected soldiers of the community. The father for whose sake the journey was made still lingers on the shores of Time. “Little Rosebud,” the pet of the hospital, is a happy wife and mother, while the writer fills an humble sphere at home, and writes her name today just as she did thirty-seven years ago.

My little story is done. It is but a faint and feeble outline of those far off-days, and but a slender thread that connects me with The Great Rebellion. But such as it is, I dedicate it to the G. A. R. in general and the “boys” of Corinth in particular, and to my dear sister who as an infant in arms, could know nothing of this period in her life and mine.

Boys who wore the blue, you have long been gray. Many of your ranks have already “crossed the river, and are resting under the trees,” not in wall tents or Sibleys, but

And when for them and you the “long roll” is sounded, commanding all the vast armies to “turn out” and “fall in” for the last Grand Review, and you stand in serried ranks before the Great Commander, Oh! may you all be able to sing as in one grand chorus,

Nathan W. Crooks, prominently identified with the early portion of this history, died at Washington C. H., O., on May 6, 1900.

Wesley Jackman, one of the four hungry “boys from home” whom I fed at the Manassas House, Jackson, answered the final call on August 6, 1901, just three days before the last pages of this book went to press.