The days passed by, and we, with the blissful ignorance of new soldiers, could not see the omens which filled the air, indicating that the battle was not far off; omens which the old soldier can so easily interpret, and which, as we became used to army life, were also easily interpreted by us. But the time was near when we should meet the foe, and as we plodded along one afternoon, tired and almost smothered with the dust, two staff officers came riding back from the direction of the front, and as they passed the writer caught the words, "throwing up breastworks on Chaplin Hills." Still at the time they made no impression on my mind, but before that time the next day, I recalled them and then understood what was meant. The dust was terrible, and about the middle of the afternoon a division of cavalry came riding by pressing on to the front. They rode in column of two's, and it seemed to us that they never would get by. The dust raised by their horses was fearful, and we were not in the best of humor, so as they rode along we very foolishly got angry at them, and curses flew at their heads in a pitiless storm. Some of the boys actually pricked the horses with their bayonets. But at length they passed us, and glad enough we were to get rid of them. We soon went into camp in an old corn-field, and between two corn rows the writer laid his tired body and was soon in the land of dreams. We never knew exactly what time it was when we felt a shake and heard a summons to wake up. The moon was shining brightly and quiet reigned all around us. But there was something in the wind more than common, as we could judge by the subdued voices in which commands were given, and when we were ordered to pile our knapsacks and leave a guard sufficient to protect them, it became apparent that there was business on hand which needed our attention. But we well remember what our first impressions were, when the order to pile knapsacks was given. We thought in our innocence that the commanding powers had taken pity on us, and were going to haul our knapsacks for us in the wagons, that they had concluded to save us the fatigue of carrying them ourselves; so laboring under this impression we silently fell into line and marched away in the moonlight back to the pike from which we had moved the night before. We well remember as we silently marched along that our file leader, a comrade by the name of Ross, had swinging to him the half of an old knapsack filled with honey. We intimated to him that we were particularly fond of honey, and if he had no objection we would like to help him eat what he had, but Ross was not in a honied humor that morning and our request was denied. I never knew what he did with it, but am strongly inclined to the belief that comrade Ross found other matters too weighty to attend to that morning besides eating honey, and that he cast it from him. We were now on the pike, when the order to "halt!" was given. There was an old barn on the side of the pike, and behind it the head of the regiment had stopped. "Front Face," "Right Dress," "Load and Cap," were the orders in quick succession, and then the colonel riding down the line informed us that the hour for battle had arrived, and he hoped every man in the 125th would do his duty. We had come out to fight, that was what we were there for, that was our business, but we will confess for ourself our heart beat a trifle faster, and our gun had a colder touch than common, or at least it seemed so. But history was to be made that day, and as it was proven latter in the day, the 125th were willing to make their part of it. And now the day commenced to break, and presently "bang," "bang," went the guns, not by volley, but ever and anon, a desultory shot from the direction of our skirmish line, showing that our skirmishers had run against some obstacle which bore the resemblance of a man. The daylight grows brighter, and the guns crack oftener; occasionally a volley is heard, and our brigade commander, Col. Dan McCook, comes tearing down the pike on his war horse, and orders our colonel to march the regiment to the top of a hill to our left; away we went, and arriving there found our battery "I" of the 2nd Ills. artillery in position. We were to support it from any and all attacks of the rebels. There we stood in line as if on dress parade, but directly bullets came whizzing over us, with now and then a shell. Dodging was the order of the day, and heads were ducking in all directions; still we stood, until Col. McCook came riding up, and calling to our colonel told him to order us to lie down. We quickly responded to the command, but not before some of our number had been hit. And now our battery, tired of being set up as a mark, began to return the compliments of our rebel friends, and the air was filled with the sharp reports of the guns and the explosion of shells, while as a sort of an accompaniment to the noise the ping of the bullet was heard all around us. The battle had indeed opened. We lay in this position nearly all the forenoon, when at last there came an order for the right wing of the regiment to move across the pike into some woods. This we did, and took position in the rear of the 73rd Ills. to relieve them when their ammunition should give out, and which to judge by the way they were shooting would not be long. So there we lay expecting every moment to go into action, but as the time passed away and the 73rd slackened its firing somewhat, we became used to our position, and the crash of lead and iron ceased to inspire us with the blood curdling sensation which we had experienced at the commencement of the battle. A few only of our boys got hit as we lay there, but the tops of the trees suffered considerably by the solid shot, shells, and grape and canister that the rebel-guns hurled at us, and we were quite willing they should be the victims instead of us.

Battle is always a serious affair, and there never was, nor ever will be a battle fought without its bringing sorrow and grief to many homes, but it also has its ludicrous aspects, and I will relate one that happened here. As we have said before, the 73rd Ills. was directly in front of us, and when the firing was at its height, forth from its ranks came a man in the wildest manner, headlong over us fellows who were laying on the ground, shouting at the top of his voice: "Where's the doctor? Where's the doctor? I'm shot in the head! I'm killed! I'm killed!" and away he went as fast as he could go. We looked after him in surprise, thinking he was the liveliest corpse we had ever seen. That night after the battle was over, we again saw this man, recognizing him by the peculiar color of his hat.

"Hello!" we exclaimed, going up to him, "we thought you was dead."

"No, sir," was the emphatic reply, "but they gave me a close call," and taking off his hat he showed us where a rifle ball had raised a welt clear across the top of his head, from front to rear. The result was that it partially crazed him for the moment, and he was not responsible for his actions. But here at Perrysville on the eight of October, 1862, was where the regiment received its "baptism of fire," and here it was that on that October afternoon it received its first order to "charge bayonets," and to the glory and honor of the regiment be it said, not a man refused to obey the command. Perhaps the reader may say: "I can not see much glory in that, they were ordered to do so, and they were there to obey orders." True enough, we reply, but when we take into consideration the shortness of the time since the regiment had left home without drill or discipline, and how it was forced right into the field, we do think, and say, that the record of that bayonet charge, bloodless though it was, was a glorious one. No odds if we did not meet any enemy in our front, we did not know but we would, and so the absence of the enemy does not in the least detract from the honor of the regiment. We did not charge very far before we were ordered to "halt and lie down." The rebels were in full retreat. Why it was that we were not allowed to follow up our victory and capture or destroy the enemy, was and always has been a mystery to us. The turnpike in our rear was filled with troops, who were laying there with their guns stacked, and never during the day did they move from that position. Not only infantry, but cavalry and artillery; yet we stood and saw the foe quietly march away, leaving in our hands the field of battle, and their wounded and dead to care for.