The sun arose on the morning of the Thirtieth of September, 1862, bright and clear, and as he climbed into the heavens the heat became intense. At an early hour the Regiment was astir, for we had received marching orders, the army was going to advance, and so, long before noon the bugle sounded the Assembly. The line was quickly formed and away we went our band playing its best music. But we had not gone far until the "Halt!" was sounded, and it was not until late in the day that we got clear of the streets of Louisville and out into the open country. It was a hard day on us, encumbered as we were with so much clothing, for each man was provided with two suits of underwear, and overcoat, and nothing is more tiresome than the perpetual halting, and advancing, halting and advancing, which we were compelled to do that day, owing to the crowded and jammed condition of the streets, filled as they were with regiments of infantry, cavalry, batteries of artillery, baggage, and supply trains, and all and singular that goes to make up the force of a large army about to take the field.

But at last we were clear of the town, and marching on the open country road, leaving, however, behind us, several of our comrades who had been overcome with the heat of the sun and the irksomeness of our movements, and had fallen in their places in the ranks and been carried off to the hospital for treatment. We did not go far until our track was lined with clothing, blankets and other property we had thrown away as being too cumbersome and hard to carry. We went into camp in a meadow, and as soon as the order was given to break ranks, many of us flung ourselves on the ground and never moved from our position until the bugle sounded the reveille in the morning.

Our soldier life had now fairly commenced, and we were on the march to that country in which many of our comrades were to find their last resting places. When the war commenced, Kentucky had declared neutrality, but we think our statement will be borne out by many, that the neutrality amounted to nothing. At any rate it was the opinion of us all, that for a neutral state, Kentucky held many bushwhackers, and guerillas, who, from behind trees and rocks, murdered our boys whenever opportunity offered. It was murder, not warfare. Kentucky neutrality was rebellion in ambush. But Kentucky also had loyal sons, and she gave to the Union several regiments of brave men. Kentucky had splendid roads, and as we advanced further into the country we were charmed with the scenery, and if it had not been for the terrible scarcity of water, we would have got on very well. Foraging of any kind was strictly forbidden, but the fruits of the land found their way into camp, all the same. Honey was plenty, fresh meat and also vegetables, and in spite of all orders, found their way into camp. There was one boy in our company who seemed to have, instinctively, a knowledge superior to any one else, as to where all such things could be obtained. Every night he would appear in camp ladened down with food that had never been issued from our regimental commissariat. He was liberal hearted, and distributed his good things with a lavish hand. But the marching became terrible at last. The hot sun beating on the "pike," and the air filled with the heated dust, no water, excepting such as could be obtained from ponds by the road side, stagnant, and covered with a green slime, and often with hogs wallowing in it. The springs and wells dried up, all combined to make our march irksome, and almost unbearable. Camp Diarrhoea made its appearance from which nearly all suffered more or less. Green persimmons, white oak bark, and all such simple astringents were used, but many became very weak and unable to march. The ambulances were full of sick soldiers, and so indeed were many wagons. Many poor fellows got discouraged, thoughts of home and loved ones filled their minds, and as the long days passed away and they lay in the ambulances, their minds kept wandering back, and nothing could arouse them to make endeavors to regain their health, so at last death came to many and relieved them of their sufferings. It was at such times as these, that the boys showed their hearty good will, that earnest endeavor to help those who could not help themselves, so characteristic of the western man, and many a trip was made by some kind hearted lad to houses far from the line of march, although he knew he was running the risk of losing his own life in the attempt, to procure a canteen of good water for a sick comrade, who was slowly but surely loosing his hold on life. The writer well remembers the feelings that the first death in his own company occasioned. One of our boys had grown so weak from the effects of the diarrhoea that he had been placed in one of the ambulances. For several days he rode thus, and every night when we reached camp some one of our number would go to the ambulance train to see if he needed anything, that we could do for him, but one night the messenger returned with the sad news, that, when the ambulance train went into camp, he was found dead inside. Yes, poor fellow, his warfare was over, and as we gathered to our camp fires the news was spread around, a pall of sorrow seemed to settle down upon us, and Co. "B" went to their blankets with saddened hearts. But sorrow, like everything else, is evanescent, and before the next night rolled around, the company had again assumed its usual every day life and jollity, not that the memory of our lost comrade had faded from our minds, but on every hand there was to be seen something new to us, something to excite enquiry, and we were finding now, every day, traces of war; fences torn down to enable cavalry to charge through, dead horses, and used up wagons by the road side, which had been abandoned by the enemy, and destroyed, by cutting the spokes out of the wheels, so as to be of no use to the "invader." These sights, and many others, quickly dispelled sorrow, and brought in its place a desire to meet the foe. We were at this time in the division over which General Phillip H. Sheridan had command.