Battlefield Below Richmond, June 29, 1862.—

We march and fight all day and sleep on our arms at night. The enemy is slowly giving back and we are getting them down into the peninsular, where the rivers are not so far apart. It is said that Jackson is keeping them from the York river. Their only chance that I can see is to take to their boats on the James river, which I suppose they will soon be compelled to do. If we had a navy on the river we would get them about the same place Lord Cornwallis surrendered to Washington.

We march again.

June 30th.—

When, O, when will it end ?

There is no firing immediately in our front just now, but I am momentarily expecting it. It cannot last much longer, but alas, the lives that will be lost before the close.

McClelland will soon have to surrender or take water. Marching orders.

July 1st.—

The enemy are still Jailing back in good order, fighting as they go. They undoubtedly cannot hold out much longer.

It is now getting dark and dismal. I will lie down among the dead and wounded and get what rest I can.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

Now the rage of battle ended.

And the foe for mercy call, Death no more in smoke and thunder Rides upon the vengeful ball.

The greatest battle of the age is over and I am spared to write you. The enemy have made, it is thought, their last but boldest stand. It was the most obstinate and terrible battle yet fought. There are hundreds of dead bodies all over the field. At one place where the enemy had a battery there are hundreds of dead bodies on a plot of ground no larger than a small garden. When the charge was made on this battery the enemy poured a very destructive fire of grape and canister among us, killing a great many. No stop; the charge was made, the battery taken, the enemy dispersed. Hundreds of them were killed in trying to make their escape.

It is thought the fight is over. The enemy have taken shelter in some white oak swamps, and I think by morning they will be in their vessels homeward bound.

Mattison's battalion has lost in killed and wounded about half of what few men we had at the beginning of the fight. To have seen the glorious old Fourth regiment one year ago, and to see it now, one would naturally cry out, "O, cruel, cruel war, what mischief thou hast doile! Farewell, Fourth regiment; farewell, Mattison's battalion I"

Mr. Phillips is safe, with the wagons. Joe Land was alive yesterday; Willis Dixon unhurt; Riley Burress killed; Silas Crow killed; Thomas Stacks wounded; Lieutenant S. P. Haynie, mortally wounded; Sam Couch wounded; James Lofton, badly wounded; James Skelton, wounded in the head, and will die; Matthew Cox and both the Winter boys wounded I cannot give the names of all our neighbors and friends who are killed or wounded. Their names are Legion, for they are many.

Let this letter be read to all the neighbors. I will close in the morning.

July 3d, 7 O'clock a. m.—

I feel both happy and sad. Happy because I am safe, but sad and sorrowful that so many of my companions are dead whom I have known for a longtime. I grieve that Mattison's battalion is no more.

Yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

Note.—Among the wounded men who died of their wounds were S. P. Haynie, James Skelton, John Manning, Robert McClinton and many others of my acquaintance. J. W. R.

Camp near Richmond, Va., July 11, 1862.—

I cannot give you a list of killed and wounded among our acquaintances. It would take several sheets of foolscap paper. For about twenty-five miles the ground is literally strewn with dead bodies. When or where has it ever been equalled ? Certainly not in any of Napoelon Bonaparte's great battles.

After following the enemy as far as we thought necessary, and waiting until we were certain they had gone, ascertaining that fact, we began on the 8th our march back toward Richmond. We got back to our old camp yesterday and are occupying the same ground we did before the battle began.

A sadness pervades the army. How many of our brave comrades, who left this place to the call of battle, have gone to a bourne from whence none return. When I think of the heartrending wailing of the mothers, widows and orphans at home a tear unconsciously trickles down my cheek. Everything here is as still as a grave yard. Not one amongst us but has lost a dear relative or friend in this great struggle. There has been such noise and confusion of late that the stillness reminds roe of a cotton factory when it suddenly shuts down. Still, still as death. The weight of dreadful silence is almost as terrorizing as the battle itself.

A great many of our wounded are dying, as are men daily dying from sickness also. I can truthfully say that this is a time that tries men's souls.

I said in a former letter, "Farewell, Fourth regiment, farewell, Mattison's battalion." I must also add, "Farewell, Wheat's battalion." It has been with us so long and in so many dark places. It is gone like our own glorious old Fourth. What few there are left of both battalions will hereafter go into other commands. In fact we were attached to another regiment during the fight just ended.

And now, in a few days, if justice is done, I will bid farewell to my comrades in arms (except the few who are to come with me), and come home to those who are still dearer to my heart than the comrades I will leave behind, than those who have staid with me through scenes I can not describe.

This is the last letter I will send you from Northern Virginia, if all things work as they should, and I think there is no doubt of their doing so.

I forgot to mention that General R. E. Lee was in corn-was during the reign of terror just past. He is all is all right. He led us to victory. He is a chip of the old block or blocks, Richard Henry Lee and "Lighthorse" Harry Lee, of Revolutionary days.

I know of but one bad move made by any of our officers, and that was by a Colonel, whose name I shall not mention, who, in making a charge, took his men up in column

by companies or divisions, that is, one company behind another, when they should have been scattered as much as possible. They were torn all to pieces. It was not from a want of bravery on the part of the Colonel, but of good tactics

I will new close this long letter.

I remain yours as ever, J. W. Reid.

Note.—The letter dated July 11, 1862, was the last one I wrote before going home. After finishing my letter I began making preparations. We had our discharges written and signed by the officers of the battalion, and they were then sent up to General Jenkins for his signature. They remained there a day or two after our time was out. None of our officers would go up to see about our discharges. Finally, all met who were going home, and it was put upon me to go to General Jenkins and ascertain, if possible, the cause of delay. I went, and he said that he had never seen our discharges, but that he would sign them on sight. We hunted among a quantity of other papers and finally found them. He immediately signed all of them but one. If I had not gone to him I cannot say how it would have been. Whoever had taken them there had laid them or thrown them down, and had not seen the general at all. The next morning I. gave my comrades a sad farewell, and I left the lines and tented field

Where long I'd been a lodger; My humble knapsack all my wealth, A poor but honest soldier.

In Richmond they would not recognize our discharges, because, they said, the discharges were not rightly signed. It was a long time before the authorities would tell us in what the orders were wrong. At length we were told that where General Jenkins had said, "By order of," he should have said "Approved by." I immediately wrote a note to General Jenkins and sent it back by Jmes Dickinson, informing him of his mistake. When Dickinson got to camp the General was not present, but Colonel Moore was acting in his place. He fixed them all right, and also signed the one that Jenkins had refused, not knowing it had bee n refused. It was late in the following day when Dickinson returned. When he did return the man whose Discharge Jenkins had refused to sign was with him, and he was the happiest man outside of Paradise. There had been a misunderstanding as to his age. He told us he was truly glad the General had signed our discharges wrong. So we were delayed in Richmond two days but finally got off on the 16th, and on the 18th, late in the night, I reached home.

Ah, the joy, the inexpressible joy of that moment can better be imagined than described. Little did I think then that I would soon be on the Virginia battlefield again, but such was nevertheless the case, as you will hereafter see. On Old Virginia soil you shall hear of me again. J. W. R.

CHAPTER I

When the infernal Conscript Act was amended, taking in all those under forty-five years of age, then it was that I could truthfully sing, O, carry me back, O, carry me back to Old Virginia's shore. But before entering into an account of my services as an engineer, I will remark that I cannot give the exact dates of passing events as I did when in the Fourth regiment, as my letters of this period can1 not be found. In 1863, when it became evident that I would have to face the music again, I put it off as long as possible, and, when I saw that I could stay at home no longer, I put on my equipments and ordered a forward march in single file, guide right.

At this time there was a regiment at Charleston, S. C, composed of the grand daddies of the State, in the State service, taken in for six months. At this time there was. one of these antedeluvians at home on a furlough, who made a bargain with my son, W. Irving Reid, then about fifteen years old, to go to Charleston in his place, so it happened that we both left home at the same time.

I will not attempt a description of the heartrending scene at our separation. The father and son, the only child, start to war at the same time. Ye matrons, remember what the women of those times endured. My own dear companion gave up her husband and her only child, all that she held dear upon earth, and was left alone. Remember those trying times, remember the women's fortitude.

It was my intention, when I left home of again joining Longstreet's command, who at this time was in command of an entire army corps. It was my intention to go into the Sixteenth South Carolina regiment, in which I had a great many friends. It was made up mostly from Greenville county, and was commanded by Colonel James Mc-Cullough, with whom I am well acquainted, I had mustered often with the regiment at Toney's old field, near Fork Shoals, in Greenville county. When I reached Columbia I was informed that the whereabouts of Longstreet was unknown, and that I would have to remain at the camp of instruction (destruction, the boys called it), until Longstreet could be heard from. Accordingly, I went on to the camp after night, ray son going; with me. I was soon enrolled as a member of the camp of instruction, and it took all the oratory I could command to keep them from enrolling Irving also. I told them I would send him back home before they should enroll his name there. They asked me if I was willing to swear that he was under the conscript age. I told them I was willing to swear to it, and I am not certain but what I did sware a little, though not on Holy writ. Next morning I saw him off for Charleston. Conjecture my feelings, ye fathers in Israel, when I saw the last tie upon earth (except those I had already left), leave me to go to one portion of the war and I to another. One thing I well knew, that notwithstanding he was nothing but a boy, he was as brave as Caesar, and that his heart was about the biggest thing about him. The only thing I dreaded in him was insubordination, for he always wanted his own way.

When the cars sped away with my only child, bound for the scenes of conflict, my feelings cannot be described on paper. I did not expect at that time to see him again on earth. The sequel will show that I was mistaken.

As I walked back through Columbia, who should I meet, right opposite the State house, but Major Mattison, whose, wound, received at Seven Pines, was partially well. He was now a member of the legislature. We talked over old times for a while and then separated, he for the State house and I for the camp of instruction.

I will state for the information of those who have no knowledge of this institution, that this camp of instruction (although, for my life I can't see what instruction was given there), was where all the men of the State subject to conscription were sent previous to going into the army. Most of these men had never been in service, and to say the truth, the greater part were unfit for it. The lame, the halt,the blind were taken there and examined by doctors, some of whom could not have told what was the matter with a man broken out with measles, and if a person could walk a dozen steps without falling or fainting they were pronounced able for duty. Sometimes it would be for light duty, but I have never yet found what light duty is to acommon soldier. Light places there are, but not for a private soldier. In all my knowledge of military duty,military tactics and army regulations, I have failed yet to find light duty for a private soldier.

CHAPTER II.

It was but a few days until I had sixteen men on my list. Lieutenant Rumbough came to me and wanted to know why I could not fro with them to Virginia. I stated to him my reasons for wanting to go to Longstreets command. He then offered to temporarily appoint me sergeant to go with the men, rather than for them to go under a guard, also offering to recommend me to Colonel T. M. R. Talcott, asking him to approve the appointment and let me remain as a sergeant. With the persuasion of Rumbougb and the men whom I had gotten, I finally consented to go, with the understanding that if Colonel Talcott did not approve my appointment I was not to be considered as belonging to the regiment, and was to have the liberty of going in any part of the service I chose. All commissioned engineer officers are examined by a board of engineers and appointed by them. All non-commissioned officers are examined by the colonel and appointed by him. They must all understand something about engineering. The commissioned officers must all be engineers practically. A. sergeant in the engineers is about equal in rank to a lieutenant in the infantry. They carry a sword and do the same duties as a lieutenant and receive about the same pay. So the arrangement was made and we left Columbia for Richmond, Va., where Colonel Talcott's headquarter's were. When we reached Chester the train stopped for dinner, and my men asked leave to get out and walk about a little. I gave them permission to do so, but when the whistle blew and the train started one of the men named Wells was missing. He had gone on up to York, where he lived. He had, just before leaving Columbia, received a box of provisions from home, which had not been opened. When I found out that Wells was certainly gone I was glad of it, for I had much rather have the box than to have Wells. So I opened the same and found hams, pies, pound rake, butter and all sorts of goodies. I divided it out exactly equal, giving myself a little the most, and so we fared sumptuously every day while it lasted. After traveling three days and nights, and being "scroughed" nearly out of our hides, we finally reached Richmond, to which I once thought I had bidden a final farewell. Human calculations are nothing but folly. I took my men to the Soldiers' Home, where we remained all night. Next morning (Sunday) I hunted Colonel Talcott's headquarters. He was gone to church.

In the evening I took Joel Crisp of Laurens county, with me, knowing him to be a good talker, and found Colonel Talcott at his headquarters. He seemed to scrutinize me pretty closely, but I tried to look as big as Watch and as brave as Ashmore's old hare-liped Caezar, but I did not say much for fear of saying something that would knock me into a cocked hat. But seriously, I thought that the Colonel was forming a pretty good opinion of me, from the way he talked. He told me to take the men up to Camp Lee and turn them over to Lieutenant Young, until they could be regularly assigned over to the engineer regiment, but for me to go myself on Monday morning to the engineers' camp and form the acquaintance of Captain Robinson, as I would have to be recommended by him before I could be regularly appointed a sergeant, according to army regulations. I did as directed, but I felt as though I was about to be run through a flint mill. On Monday morning I put op. as sanctimonious a look as possible, took Crisp with roe again to help me talk, and went to Captain Robinson. As strange as it may seem, I had a chance to tell him who I,was before Crisp said anything: Crisp then commenced and gave me a reputation that General Washington himself would almost envy. Oh, I tell you, he read my title clear to mansions in the army. I soon found that all was right with Captain Robinson, so far as I was concerned, but from his talk and looks I did not think he was glued very fast to Crisp. He recommended me to Colonel Talcott as being worthy of the appointment.

I was, in a day or two afterwards, regularly appointed a sergeant in Company K, First Regiment Engineer Troops, and was given a written commission, which I have yet. My pay was $45 per month. The colonel then appointed me a recruiting officer, and started me back to South Carolina, to my joy. The colonel said that Rumbough had informed him that I was a much better hand at recruiting than he was himself. I was already a ware of that fact, but had not said so. Crisp had. It may be possible they thought me a better recruiting officer than I would be as an engineer officer. Be that as it may, I was now both, but I found out afterwards that the duties I had to perform always gave satisfaction. As above stated I was sent back to South Carolina, no time being mentioned when I was to return. My trip back to South Carolina and my recruiting business is of little importance to the reader of to-day. I will therefore state that I went to the camp of instruction at Columbia and recruited a day or two. I got two or three recruits, with whom I left some papers authorizing them to recruit for me in my absence, and went home. While at home I took a trip to Greenville and other places, getting all the recruits I could. After remaining at home about three weeks, I again bid my wife good-bye and started for Old Virginia. When I arrived at Columbia I found I had twenty-one recruits, in all, for my regiment. I had taken sixteen men before, Wells included. I soon got transportation for us all,and rolled off for Virginia. We got to Richmond one evening, and that same night Colonel Talcott fixed up my papers and the next day started me back again for South Carolina. I had remained in Richmond only one night.

When I got to Columbia I felt like a bag of cucumbers, well shaken up. Never was I so tired riding in my life.

The cars were always crowded almost to suffocation, and a great deal of the time I was obliged to stand up. I had slept scarcely twelve hours in the entire week. When I reached Columbia I found that the regiment of grand-daddies, whom I have already mentioned, would be in Columbia that night, homeward bound, their time being out. I knew that my son Irving, if living, would be with them, and I also knew that according to the last amendment of the Conscript Act, many of them would have to go into the Confederate service again in thirty days, being allowed that length of time to remain at home. This was a good chance for me as a recruiting officer, if I could get off with the regiment in the morning. I almost ran to the camp of instruction, left some recruiting papers with some of the men there, ran back to Columbia, had my transportation papers fixed up, but not at business hours; it was done for accommodation.

I got everything in readiness to start with the antedeluvian regiment next morning. I then turned out to hunt up Irving, for they had gotten in by this time. I found my old brother-in-law, J. J. Lewis, who told me that Irving was along, but had gone, he supposed, up town. I hunted around for some time and found everybody but Irving, but could find nothing of him. I then gave up the job. It was now after midnight. I think the boy must have been taking a census of the town, as I could hear of no place he had not just left. Next morning, however, I found him quite early, close to where we had parted some time before. And we went home together after going off together—quite a curious coincidence.

I got a good many recruits out of that regiment, and after visiting Greenville again and remaining about home for over five weeks, I again set out for Columbia, The reason I remained so long was that the men I was recruiting were allowed thirty days before they were compelled to enter the service again, and accordingly I had to wait for them. I had written to my superiors and informed them of affairs, and received instructions to wait for the men.

I expect the reader thinks I am getting rather far off from the war. Never mind; we'll get there time enough for me. I don't know how it may be with you, but if-yon will follow me for awhile you will soon find stirring times. Bear in mind that I am not writing a history of the war, but merely what came under my personal observation.

I again bade my family adieu and started to Columbia. When I arrived at the camp of instruction I found I had twenty-five recruits. I immediately made necessary arrangements and. again (for the last time, as it happened), set out for Virginia. On this trip an incident or two occurred which I will relate as briefly as possible.

When we reached Weld on, in North1 Carolina, we found everything in confusion. The enemy had made a dash up the river, and the Weldonites were panic stricken, thinking they would be attacked. They were stopping all Richmond-bound trains, and were pressing the men in to go down the river and keep the enemy back. As I have before stated, I had twenty-five men with me who would do anything I told them. Some of them seemed to look on me as the Commander-in-chief of the Confederate army. When I was-told to take my men and go down the river there were about forty other soldiers in the coach who agreed to stand by me. It was night and I refused to go. They threatened force. I said, "Where are the arms we are to use?" "There are none here, they replied, "but perhaps some can be gotten down there." When I found they had no arms I felt better. I replied that I could find arms and equipments a d—d sight nearer than that, and if they undertook to force us that I would produce them and sixty or seventy men to use them; and they would be used for any purpose I would propose. They retreated in good order, thinking we had a box of guns with us.

During this melee some of my men's eyes looked a good deal like dogwood blossoms, but still they would have stuck to me-r-especially if I had run, which I would surely have done before I would have gone down the river in the dark without arms. We remained in the coach all night, and next morning chartered an old freight car and just about forced an engineer to take us on to Petersburg. Just before we started, a little bow-legged dude of an officer told me that he would report me to General Lee. I told him to go to—his daddies—I would report at headquarters myself to-morrow, and so I did, but I did not report this movement.

We got to Petersburg in the evening, and had to remain until 9 o'clock in the night, waiting for a train. I had gotten my men all in one coach with a good many others, A good looking soldier came in and took a seat at a window near me. He had been there but a few moments when a negro boy come to the window and said: "Boss, I want dat quarter you owes me," The man replied, "I don't owe you anything," but the boy still contended for the quarter "dat you owes me." At length, finding that he could not collect "dat quarter," he jerked off the man's hat arid ran off through the dark with it. The man struck out in the dark after him.

Being gone some time he returned with a hat. He had occupied his seat but a short time when an old negro man came to the door of the car and said, "Mister, I wants my hat." The man said that he knew nothing of his hat, and finally after a long argument, the negro said, "I'll go fotch de p'lice." When he got off the car the man said, "Boys, we are all soldiers together. What shall I do?" I will admit that, honest as I try to be, I was sorry for him,. I happened to spy a torn place in the cloth lining of the coach overhead. I gave the man a wink and pointed to the rent. In an instant the hat was in it, and soon the policeman came. He was shown the man but could not find the hat. A few minutes later the train moved off for Richmond, to the great joy of the hat man. As soon as the train had fairly started he came to me and said: "What would become pf me if you had not shown me that hole ?" He then asked me if I ever drank anything. I answered in the affirmative. He said I should have what I wanted when we got to Richmond. He was as good as his word. He looked and talked live a gentleman, although he had not acted so.

When we reached the city I soon bid the hat man adieu and took my men to the Soldiers' Home again, and remained all night.

Next morning I reported to Colonel Talcott, and the men and myself were all assigned over to the-First regiment of engineer troops, myself to Company K, commanded by Captain G. W. Robinson. T. M. R. Talcott was colonel,---Black ford, lieutenant-colonel, --Randolph, major; or those were the field officers after we were regularly organized, but at the time I am now writing I think Talcott was only lieutenant-colonel.

I will now run over the balance of the companies in Virginia as briefly as I can. By this time our army had fallen back from Maryland and Pennsylvania with the enemy at their heels. About the operations carried on there I shall have nothing to say, as I was not with the army at the time. Vicksburg had also been taken, and everything began to look dark on our side. It did not take a Solomon to foresee how things would end. Our circulating medium, Confederate money, was worthless. We were scarce of all kinds of supplies, and more than all we were short of men, and what few we had were becoming disheartened. Therefore it was an easy thing to see how the matter would naturally go. This was the condition of things when I again took up my abode in Virginia.

By this time a law had been enacted forbidding any more recruiting, as the men coining into the service must be assigned to whatever part of the service they were most needed. Therefore I did not go recruiting again, but remained with the army until I went home to stay, of which event I will inform you in due time.

It was now about January, 1864. Our regiment remained in camp near Richmond about three months, doing but little duty of any kind. While we were in camp Dahlgren made his famous raid into Richmond, from which he never returned. When this attack was made the City Guards of Richmond were taken away for a few days and my regiment had to. guard the prisoners on Belle Isle in their place. My company and another company of the regiment were sent one day on guard. It was uncommonly cold weather, and several men died from the effect of cold taken there. Two of the men who had gone with me there died with something like brain fever, Louis Martin, of Anderson, and --Meadows, of Spartanburg.

One day just after this I was officer of the guard at camp. Just at night a man was brought to the guardhouse for going to Richmond and staying several days Without leave of absence. I got orders to buck him all night and make him dig up a stump the next morning. After he was bucked awhile he begged me so hard to unloose him that I did so, the guard all promising not to report me for it. Next morning I put him to digging or rather scratching up a stump. It was raining heavily. I went to the officer of the day and told him it was as bad on the men guarding him as on the prisoner, and that he knew no more about digging than a child. The officer told me to let him off, and I did so. He was an Italian.

Nothing of importance happened with us after this Italian affair. A pig could have rooted up the stump before he could have dug it up. I withhold his name.

In march or early in April we moved up near Orange Courthouse, where our main army was then stationed. I had been there before. We put up camp in sight of our old Camp Taylor, of which I have spoken in the Fourth regiment. At this place our regiment undertook to drill in what we call a battalion drill. The companies were not equalized and were without form, and void of military tactics or army regulations or discipline. We got dreadfully mixed up. Some of the officers would give the command : "By the left shank, file right, double creep, march 1" Another would say, "Doublefast, common time, stop! You don't know one thing about military tick-tacks.". Sometimes part of the company was going in one direction and some in another. I began to think we were being mustered out of the service and each company had started home.

Shortly after we came here, my company, as I call it, (for I had made it up and would have been captain of it if it had been left to an election), was appointed as a pontoon company. We went every day to a millpond not} far off and put in a pontoon bridge and would then take it out again. In this way we soon learned to understand the business well.

At this time we were daily expecting a big battle, and it soon came, but before it did I got a letter from Dr. Todd, at home. I received it on the 1st day of May, 1864. Dr. Todd advised me to come home if possible, as my wife was very ill with pneumonia. I don't think there was a worse time during the war to ask for a furlough. But I knew that the officers of my regiment would do the best they could for me, and as we belonged to no particular brigade or division of the army, a furlough only had to be signed by my captain, my colonel and General Lee* That very day my furlough was signed by my captain, Colonel Talcott and General Lee and was given to me that evening. If I had belonged to any brigade or division I have no idea I would have gotten off on the 2d. I took the train at Orange Courthouse and started for home, sweet; home. My furlough was only for fifteen days.

I found my wife much better. She was getting up and about. I remained at home for a day or two and then, again turned my back on all that I held dear, to return for the sixth and last time to Virginia, where scenes of carnage and slaughter were then going on at a tremendous rate. The battle of the Wilderness had been fought on May 5th, or about that time, and the fighting was still going on, almost daily, our army gradually falling back all the time.

I was delayed a great deal on the road, and when I got. to Danville the people there were in a panic like those at Weldon on a former occasion. A raid had been made up the Dan river to within a few miles of Danville, and the authorities there were stopping all passing soldiers and pressing them into service to go down the river and try to keep the enemy back. A man by the name of Lee, from Alabama, and myself went into the woods and hid for three days to keep from going down the river under we knew not whom.

We bought some corn meal and a, small piece of bacon from a citizen and got the ladies to bake our bread. We finally ventured in to Danville to see how the wind blew. It was not blowing at all, and the people had about quit blowing. The next morning the whistle blew and I was off for Richmond.

Just previous to this the enemy had made an attempt to approach Richmond by the James river, but General Beauregard had driven them back below Howlet's Bluff, several miles below Richmond.

I was again delayed at Richmond, the authorities there not knowing where the army was at the time. Everything and everybody was in confusion. I could ascertain nothing. I could get no papers to go forward, and as the negro said, I sat down and wrote them myself, and went without any.

I took the first train going out and went to Hanover Junction, where I found out that the main army was near by, and was still coming toward the junction.

I placed myself at the roadside to wait for the army to come up to see if I could find out anything of my command. I had not waited long when the head of the army approached with General Lee and his staff along. It was not long before the head of my regiment made its appearance, Colonel Talcott at its front. The moment he saw me he inquired what was the news from the south side (meaning the south side of the James river). I replied, "Beauregard has given the enemy the devil over there, and driven them down below Howlet's Bluff." This news was soon in circulation all over the army, and a shout went up, "Hurrah for Beauregard!" I was five days behind my time, but the reasons were well known, and I was excused from all blame whatsoever.

Our army had been doing some very hard fighting while I was gone, and was still fighting more or less every day. It was falling back toward Richmond, with the enemy close in the rear. I shall not describe the trials and sufferings of the army at this time as I was not with them at the battle of the Wilderness, nor the different battles fought afterwards in the retreat toward Richmond. I leave these awful scenes for the future historian, and return to events which came under my own observation, as was my intention at the beginning, as I have before stated.

Our engineer regiment was sent on ahead of the main army to repair bridges, work on roads and all such work as might be needed. Some of our companies were sent one way and some another on all of the roads leading in the direction of Richmond. My company, after repairing some small bridges and corduroying the road in some places, finally got to Mechanicsville, and fixed up the bridge I had stood on when we were halted the night previous to going into the seven day's fight commencing at Mechanicsville, and there we remained several days.

I must now digress a little and relate a circumstance which occurred just before we reached Mechanicsville.

A man of my regiment had been caught between our lines and the enemy's. He was taken up, tried by court martial and sentenced to be shot to death with musketry. I was detailed as officer of the guard to guard him one day. He was handcuffed. While under guard he told me that if he had paper, pen and ink he could write some letters which might save his life, and as I had just been home I had a supply of these articles on hand. I suspect I was the only man in the regiment who had such things. I furnished him with as much as he needed, and he wrote several letters, one of which I know was to Jefferson Davis. I did not know who the others were for. When I went to leave him next morning he gave me "Ocean's Poems," in three volumes, remarking that that was all he had to give me in return for my kindness to him. I at first refused to take the books, but he persisted in my taking them, saying that he would need them no more. While here at Mechanicsville the day moved for his execution. The men were chosen for the occasion, but just before he was about to be executed a pardon was read to him. Here I lost sight of him until just before the close of the war. He made his appearance in camp one day, and I was the first man he inquired for. He told me I was the cause indirectly of his now being alive. He wanted to buy the poems back, but I had read and disposed of them.

We repaired the bridge at Mechanicsville and then bruised around until we got to Chafin's Bluff, on James river. Our army was still falling back.

After remaining there for a day or two Captain Bruce's company and my own were sent to repair the railroad between Richmond and Danville. The enemy had made a raid and torn up the track for thirty miles. We had a pretty good time while there, as the army had not been there and provisions were pretty plentiful as yet. When we finished on the railroad we returned to Chafin's Bluff. We put in a pontoon bridge of one hundred and thirty-five boats, left two of our company to guard it, and a few days afterwards the balance of us went on to Petersburg soon after the blow up there.

We went about two miles past Petersburg and put up camp.

About this time the armies were maneuvreing around Petersburg and Richmond almost continually, not knowing which would be attacked first. It kept both armies in motion. There was fighting going on more or less all the time at some point on the line, the engagements being called skirmishes, though they would have been considered big battles in any of our previous wars.

These were dark days for us; half fed, half clothed, some barefoot, our currency worthless. It took $50 to buy a chicken, a pound of bacon or pound of coffee. Pressed by an overwhelming army, and families at home suffering for the prime necessities of life. Our poor half-starved soldiers who had faced the cannon's mouth for nearly four years grew weary under one's multiplied hardships and privations. To take all these things into consideration it did not take a prophet to see the end. We all saw it and publicly talked about it in our camps. Our condition was deplorable indeed.

At this time our army had become so reduced in number that they called for all the boys over sixteen years old (in South Carolina, at least). This took in my own son, my only child, from his mother's arms, his mother's protection, and put him into the battle field. If this was not murder it was manslaughter.

Previous to this there had been a law or an order to the effect that any one getting a recruit not coming under the Conscript Act would get a thirty days'furlough (these boys were to go into the State service in South Carolina). So my son, Irving, not coming under the Conscript Act, bid his mother farewell (leaving her alone), and came to me as a recruit of mine, which entitled me to a thirty days' furlough, but I would not go off and leave him at that time. Think of these things, ye fathers and mothers. Does it seem possible that you could do so now? Or where is the boy sixteen years old who would shoulder his musket and go eight hundred miles, where nothing but starvation and death could be looked for? Washington Irving Reid did so, when, if he had remained in South Carolina he would only have been taken into the State service for six months. He was now I. P. W. (in for the war). So my boy was from this time on side by side with me until a time I shall mention further on. I will state, however, that my wife was much better satisfied that he should be with me than to have had him with the other boys, down on the coast. It was for the best. That dear woman put perfect confidence in me or in what I said.

The day after Irving came to me I did not have him mustered into the service, but let him go wherever he wished to go. He went to Petersburg and along the lines, and returned just at night, with some of the clay from the "blow-up," with which he made pipes, which were in great demand at that time, and especially pipes made of "blowup" clay, as we called it. The reader will no doubt understand that it was clay from the mine General Grant blew up. Next day I had Irving regularly mustered into the Confederate service, and he became as one of us.

By this time my superiors in office (I don't know that they were superiors in all respects), had become so well acquainted with me that I was put over a great deal of the work going on at the time. . . .

I was always allowed to pick my own men. I will give the names of some I always chose: Corporal Southern, of Greenville, S. C; Reagan, William and Marion Fowler, Johnson, all of Spartanburg; Elijah Hatcher, Hill, Samuel Harris and Bearden, of Anderson; Joel Crisp and McDuffy Stone, of Laurens, two Griffin brothers, Donaldson, Dear-son (a German), all from the lower part of South Carolina; Lewis Jones, of North Carolina and my son, with a good many others I cannot remember at this late day, but I must not forget to mention Taylor, of Spartanburg, for he was my right hand man.

At the time of Irving's arrival I was engaged in getting timber for cheraux de freize obstructions to put in front of our lines to prevent or delay a cavalry charge. They were also greatly in the way of an infantry charge. About this time Captain Bruce, who was countermining at Petersburg, wanted me to come and help him. Captain Robinson acted the gentleman, and gave me my choice of going or remaining with him. I remained.

I could not forsake my own captain and the boy I had brought there, and go to another company, although there was not a man in the service I thought more of than of Captain Bruce.

The boys who went with me treated me like a father, and I did all I could for them. If any of those boys read this page, will they be glad to hear from their old sergeant?

About this time I was sent as an engineer officer to attend to the altering of our lines, at Battery Forty-Five, a little south of Petersburg, and although I did not profess to be a regular engineer, I could see that I was taken for such. The infantry officers who were along always consulted with me about the work but I managed to get their opinions before I delivered my own, and in that way got along all right. I expect to this day, if any of them are living, they think I was a regular engineer of high standing. We shortened our lines in front of Battery Forty-Five and I returned to camp.

About this time it became necessary to build a pontoon bridge above Petersburg, as the enemy were continually spelling the public bridges in Petersburg, go after cutting a new road, we (in company), put in two pontoon bridges across the Appomattox river, one of them just above Petersburg, the other about a mile above. Our army at the time was crossing and recrossing continually and a regular bombardment was going on day and night along our lines.

Just before we moved over to our bridges, a little drove of beeves passed our camp. General Hampton had gotten around to the rear of line enemy's lines and taken them from Abraham's bosom, hove were twenty-five hundred of them, all line steers. Irving looked at them until his eyes watered, and his mouth too, I reckon. I know mine did.

The first night after we got to our new camp on the north side of the Appomattox river it rained in torrents all night. I sent Irving to a house near by and told him to remain There all night. I then stretched up my oil cloth, as had often dons before, and lay down under it as best I could. I had been there but a few minutes when he returned saying that he could not get room in the house. t got up and forced him to take my place under the oil cloth, and I, with many others, remained up all night in the rain. We tried to keep a fire, but it rained so hard we could not make the wood burn. This was in October. Remember these things, ye that are dressed in purple and fine linen and fare sumptuously every day. The writer of these things, old and decrepid, has no place he can call his home.

Oh that I had a bosom friend.
To tell my sorrows to, In'whose advice I might depend
In everything I do.
How do I wonder up and down,
And no one pities me; I seem a stranger, quite unknown,
A child of misery.

I went immediately to work digging a out a place on a steep bank ten feet square, and put the plates of my cabin on top of the ground. I managed to get boards to cover it, and then Irving and I had a good warm place to stay. Just before this one of my company had died and left me a bedtick. We filled it with dry grass, and then we had a house and a bed to sleep upon, but no glass windows or curtains. We now thought ourselves in St. John's third Story, when in fact we were only in the cellar, where I fear a great many others are who think they are in the garret.

From this time on my Company kept up and guarded both the pontoon bridges across the Appomattox river. When on guard I was always officer of the guard. I took it by turns first at the upper bridge and then at the lower one. It was the rule that when a sentinel wanted instructions of any kind they would call out, "Officer of the guard," etc. We kept a sentinel at each end of the bridge. It was a little amusing to us all to hear Irving call out, Papa, come here," but nevertheless it was quite natural. He was the youngest in the regiment, and was allowed to do pretty much as he pleased, which he is doing yet. After he came to Virginia I fared a little better for provisions than I had been doing, as he was always on the run when not on guard, trading about and getting something to eat, when I could not have gotten it if I had tried. His being so young, the ladies about Etrix and Petersburg would divide any provisions they had with him. Etrix is a factory town just above Petersburg and in sight of our camp.

I gave him $50 one day, with which he bought a bushel of sweet potatoes, which he sold at $1 each. They were small potatoes at that, being about the size of snake roots. He borrowed a double-barreled shotgun from a citizen, with which he killed a great many robbins, which he sold at $1 each.

One day, on Sunday, he was on guard as the upper bridge without me. Lee's army got after a wild turkey. It flew over into an island a short distance above the bridge, and so Lee's army was outflanked and retreated in good order. After they had gone Irving took an extra pontoon boat we always kept on hand, went up and killed it. He shot it with his musket standing in the boat, amid tremendous applause. As he brought it down to me to camp he was offered $75 for it. I let Captain Robinson have part of it for some flour, and at dinner I had turkey and dumplings, a thing I knew Irving was very found of. When he came to dinner he ate with a tremendous relish, and so did I. We also caught a good many fish.

One night, and as cold a night, by the way, as I ever saw, just before morning, Donaldson, who was on guard at the end of the bridge next to where I was, fell into the river, breaking the ice as he went plunging into the water. I went and helped him out. Reader, did you ever see a drowned rat? If you have you would know how he looked. He swore that he had not been asleep, but I think he had. I offered to put a man in his place until he had time to change his clothes, but he refused. 1 am of the opinion he could not change them for the fact that he had none to change.

Heavy firing all along the lines now. The armies still moving; back and forth. This crossing and recrossing of our bridges has enabled me to become more or less acquainted with all our generals, from General Lee down, Lee himself having his headquarters near our upper bridge. On one occasion I was on duty at the upper bridge, and in the evening I received an order directly from General Lee to double my guard that night, and to send word for them to do the same at the other bridge, and for me to put a man on post at the Petersburg side of the bridge whom I could depend upon, and to give him the following instructions: That if a crowd of men came to cross the bridge without proper papers from him to fire off his gun and get out of the way, at which signal I was to form ray men in front of the bridge on the opposite side of the river and commence firing. A brigade of our men, it was reported to General Lee, had threatened to take possession of our commissary department, which was on this side of the river. The officer who bi ought me this order took my name and rank, so that if I did not do my duty it would be known who to blame.

I sent a note to my superiors at camp and informed them of the order, and the other men I needed were sent me just at night. The same thing was done at the lower bridge. What I disliked most was that it was my own men I had to fight, if I had to fight at all. It seemed to me that if they had been the enemy I would not have minded it half so much.

Irving was with us at the time. I omitted to say that we were not to sleep and were to keep our arms in order, and to remain with them in our hands.

About 9 o'clock (Taylor, of Spartanburg, being on post) we heard a big crowd coming over the bridge. Had Taylor fired ? My men were all excitement, but formed in front of the bridge as directed, and wanted to fire. I cried out at the top of my voice, "Withhold your fire I" I also cried out to the approaching crowd, "Halt I" They did so. I ran and met them on the bridge. They had the right kind of papers and were going to guard the commissary department. If Taylor had been a fool, or if I had acted unwisely, what trouble we would have had, but Taylor had done his duty, and I had tried to do mine. Nothing happened through the night. Next morning at daybreak the crowd went back and reported to General Lee how it had been the night before. That morning before my time was out on guard, General Lee sent an order, oh, rather, a request to me, asking me to remain as officer of the guard another day and night, stating that I had acted praise worthily the night before, and if 1 remained another term I then might rest several days. I was to double my guard again at night. My men were relieved that morning at 8 o'clock, but I remained another term. I doubled my guard again that night but nothing occurred to disturb us.

After we put in those two pontoon bridges my company did little else but guard and attend them. Two of our companies were at Ghafin's Bluff, attending the pontoon bridge across the James river at that place. The balance of (our regiment was employed first at one thing and then at. another, scarcely ever all being at the same place. Colonel Talcott's headquarters, however, were with us, where some of the other companies generally camped. None of them ever had anything to do with the bridges but the company to which I belonged. We had some dreadful times when the river would be up, getting in the water very often to work on the abutments of the bridge.

General Lee and Colonel Talcott seemed to be on very intimate terms, as they were often seen together, riding around and viewing the situation.

As I was not engaged in any of the almost daily fighting now going on, I shall not attempt a description of them. Any old soldier who took part in them can tell you more about them than I shall undertake to do, as my duties at this time did not call me to the front. I will only say that an almost continual firing was going on. The artillery duels that were frequently fought were truly terrific. Hundreds of cannon, loading and firing as fast as it as possible to be done. Nothing in comparison to it was even known in America or perhaps elsewhere, and I do sincerely hope that the like may never be heard again. It continued until the end. I shall now only give the reader a few facts that came under my own observation and end my narrative, leaving it for more able pens than ray own to portray the bloody

reign of terror around Petersburg, Virginia, in 1864 and 1865. I will now go back to my pontoon bridges and see what is going on there, which I will tell you of in the next chapter.

In January, 1865, as some of my readers will recollect, there came a powerful freshet in 'the Appomattox river. When the river was at its height eleven of my men, all recruits of mine, took a boat over to an island for firewood. While there a dam, which had been built for military purposes on a small stream emptying just above the island, containing a large quantity of water, gave way, and the river being already very high, it became alarming for the men on the island. They became panic-stricken and and tempted to come back to land. The boat was capsized and three of them were drowned, Hill, of Anderson county, William Fowler, of Spartanburg, and Dierson, a German, from near Charleston. A few days after, when the river had fallen and everything frozen, I was going to my breakfast down the river, when I came across Irving dragging the body of Hill across a little frozen pond on the ice. He had been found clinched to a bush. His countenance had a terrorized expression, as though he had been crying I sent help and had him taken to camp. On the same day Sergeant Graham and Irving found Fowler also. I had decent coffins made and attended to their burial. Dierson was never found.

Dear reader, I am now approaching the time "When wild war's deadly blast was blown, And gentle peace returning, And eyes again with pleasure beamed That had been bleared with mourning."

I will now mention how I got off from Virginia and the closing of the war, and I will then be done with my narrative of the war, and all I intend writing.

As before stated, I was entitled to a thirty day's furlough for getting Irving as a recruit in the Confederate service.

About the last of January, 1865, I called for my furlough. It was duly written out and signed by Captain Robinson and Colonel Talcott and sent up to General Lee, who sent it back not approved, with a few lines to me which read about as follows :

Sergeant Reid, Co. K, First Regiment Engineer Troops: Did you or your officers know that the order for granting furloughs for recruits had been rescinded, or did you get the recruit in good faith, expecting a furlough ?

Signed R. E. Lee, General.

My officers and myself replied to General Lee's note that none of us were aware that the order was delayed, much less rescinded, and that the recruit was gotten last fall, in. good faith expecting a furlough. General Lee then sent it back approved, with another note which read about as lows:

Sergeant Reid, Co. K, First Regiment Engineer Troops:. If you or your officers know of any others of your regiment who got recruits in good faith expecting a furlough, let them send them to headquarters and I will sign them. (Signed) R. E. Lee, General.

The original order for granting furloughs for recruits also allowed transportation. When I went to the transportation office they refused me transportation, because, they said, the order had been rescinded granting such furloughs, and all the arguments I could use did no good, I took my furlough and went up to General Lee's headquarters. He sent an order to the office authorizing them to give me transportation. General Lee asked me if I had shown the men at the transportation office the note he sent me in regard to other soldiers getting furloughs in the same way I had done. I told him J had. He remarked, "They ought to have given you transportation without putting you to this trouble. This was the last time I ever saw General Lee, I got my transportation and returned to camp after night. I was officer of the guard that night, so as to enable me to remain at home a day longer.

I cannot express my feelings as I left my boy at camp that night. I went around and bid Captain Robinson and all the boys, as it turned out to be, a last farewell. Next morning at 6 o'clock I put Corporal Hays in my place, boarded the train and bid an everlasting farewell to Old Virginia and to the remains of the glorious old Army of Northern Virginia and to all my army associations, and started homeward once more.

No more shall the sound of the war whoop he heard. The anguish and slaughter no longer be feared. The tomahawk buried shall rest in the ground, And peace and good will to our nation abound.

As I have before stated, I did not attempt to write a history of the war, but only of the regiment to which I belonged. Nevertheless, I have written facts which cannot be successfully contradicted; I may have made a few mistakes in my description of some of our movements, but if so they are few and far between. I do not doubt but that I have given as true a statement of things which came under my observation as will be given by any one, and especially by one who was in no higher position than I was, and the future historian can depend, upon most of my statements. I at all times grave facts as correctly as my limited chances would permit. In giving my statement of the first fight at Manassas on July 21, 1861, 1 know that I am correct in the number of troops present when the attack was made, namely, the Fourth South Carolina regiment and Wheat's Battalion of Louisianians. In fact, in describing all the battles in which I participated I did all in my power to state nothing but facts, and I did the same in my description of our travels; privations and hardships. In some of my anecdotes I may have put on some paint, but not so in our travels, battles, etc.

When I left camp I left with a heavy heart, for I did not believe I would ever get back to Virginia. I knew that the end had about come.

I got home all right, but Sherman's army, getting between me and Virginia, I did not go back.

My readers are all familiar with the surrender of Lee. I will therefore say nothing about it here. My son was at the surrender, and that very day he took the measles and was carried back by the enemy from Appomattox to Petersburg. After remaining there a few days he was removed to Farmviller where he remained until until he was sent home, where he arrived on the 20th day of May, 1865. We had mourned him as dead, as we could not hear what had become of him after the surrender.

I am now through with my war record. I could have given an account of a great many incidents which occurred during the war, but think what I have written is sufficient.

The brave, poor soldier ne'er despise, Or count him as a stranger;

Remember, he's his country's stay-in the day and hour of danger..

THE END.

Sketch of the Life of the Author.
CHAPTER I

On the 5th day of February, 1824, I was born in what was then Pendleton District, South Carolina, in the portion now known as Oconee county. My father, Reuben Reid, was a school teacher and surveyor by profession. He was born August 22, 1785, which was but a few years after his father, Joseph Reid, had moved from Virginia, where he was raised.

He was, I think, of Scottish descent. My father's mother was also raised in Virginia, and was a cousin to Andrew Jackson, who was twice president of the United States. I remember hearing my father speak of four brothers of his —George, Joseph, Jesse and Blincoe. I never knew any of them except George, the eldest brother. He and his children are all dead. My father also had three sisters, but 1 have never seen them. One of them married a man named Beard.

My father in his young days traveled about a great deal, teaching school and surveying land. He taught school not only in South Carolina, but in North Carolina and Tennessee.

During the war of 1812 he enlisted (I think at Greenville Courthouse), and went into the service of the United States army. When he had served out his term of eighteen months he received an honorable discharge from the army and started home, somewhere about the mountains, but when he got within fifteen miles of home he heard of the death of his father, and he turned back with the intention of going to Charleston, but on the way he stopped one night in Newberry District with a man named Boyd, who persuaded my father to put up a school in his neighborhood, which he consented to do. A very large school was soon made up for him and he went to teaching. While teaching in this neigborhood he first saw my mother. My mother's grand parent had come from Germany when her father and mother were children, and settled in what was known as Dutch Fork, between Saluda and Broad rivers, on Cannon's creek. A good many other German families also settled in the same neighborhood, among-whom were the Cramers, the Wickers, the Subers, the Kinards, the Kestlers, the Eichelbergers and many others.

My mother was a Dickert. Her father had died when she was small, leaving her and three brothers, Michael, Adam and Henry. All of them have long since died. My grandmother afterwards married Simon Wicker, a widower with five or six children.

As I have said, my father, while in the Boyd settlement, first saw my mother. She was then staying with an uncle of hers named George Stackman, a preacher, who lived in the Boyd Settlement, as it was called. I omitted to state that my mother was born in the year 1800.

Somewhere in this neighborhood my father and mother were married at a camp meeting on August 16, 1816.

My father had wandered about a great deal in his young days, and it seemed to be natural with him to continue this practice as long as he lived. I do not know where he was living when my eldest sister, Lucinda, was born, but that momentous event occurred in 1819, and in 1821 my next oldest sister, Matilda, was born, and by the time I was born we had gotten around to Pendleton District, as above stated. We were still in Pendleton, though not at the same place when my sister Zillah Elizabeth was born, July 25th, 1826, near what was called Rock Spring church, on Coneross creek.

My very farthest recollection commences about this time. I cannot remember when I first began to go to school, as my father often carried me to school in his arms before my recollection. As I was his only son he took great pains to train me.

I can say what I presume few others can say, that is, that 1 have no recollection whatever of when I learned to to read and write. My first recollection of my schooling is when I began to cypher in arithmetic, and I was then, quite young. I can well remember when my father used to go to Old Pendleton for examination as a teacher and to get his public money. He did his trading with a Mr. Cherry. He also went to Columbia once in every four years to have his license renewed as a surveyor.

When I was about six years old we moved to Newberry again and my father taught school for awhile a short distance below Stony Batter in the neighborhood of the Lindsays, the Waits, the Wise's and Harmon's. After remaining there a few years he moved a few miles to a ferry on Saluda river, known as Lee's ferry. Here we remained for about two years, my father attending to the ferry and keeping a public house for traveling men and drovers. It was while here that my youngest sister, Zillah, and myself commenced rabbit hunting, fishing and climbing for muscadines, which we kept up for some time afterwards. She was just the same as a brother to me. We would ride canes and call them horses, ride up and hitch our steeds to the fence, and feel a good deal larger than we have ever felt since. We used to go into the piney wood and whip pine trees for negroes, the accusation against one and all being that we caught them stealing 10,000 barrels of flour—a pretty good load.

While living at this place a man called to stay all night. My father let him stay, but was not acquainted with him. He had come on foot. He was up early the next morning and walked down to the flat-boat landing. Just afterward my father started down toward the landing and saw the man go out to the hind end of the flat. When my father reached the landing he could see nothing of the man. His hat was lying in the boat.

My father sent me around to inform the neighbors on the Edgefield side of the river and he went on the New-berry side to inform the neighbors. The hat was left where it was in the boat. A large crowd soon gathered and about 1 o'clock he was gotten out. It was found that he had filled his bosom and pockets with rocks weighing twenty-eight pounds. There were several men present who knew the man. His name was W. H. Tyler, of Newberry Courthouse. The cause of the suicide Was not known.

These were the days of nullification. And the great meteoric shower called the falling of the stars occurring, caused great revivals in the churches for a short time.

After remaining at Lee's ferry for two years we moved up to within five miles of Newberry Courthouse, and my father put up a school in the settlement of the Chapmans, the Shepherds, Boozers and others. While here I went with my father to Newberry. A negro had been hung there for beating a man named Igenor, and the doctors had his body dissecting it. But of this I was in blissful ignorance. My father had some business with one of the doctors, and called at the office to see him, and I at his heels, as usual. When the door was opened and I got a glimpse of that negro, I left father's heels and my own carried me away at the rate of ten knots an hour. No chuckle-headed youngster was ever worse scared.

From this place we moved down on Cannon's creek, in the Dutch fork, not far from my grandmother's. At this time nullification was at its height. I remember going with my father to a barbecue at a place called Rumley Hill. A great many speeches were made, all in favor of nullification. A cavalry company mustered there that day, commanded by Captain H. H. Kinard, afterwards General Kinard.

From Dutch fork we moved up into Abbeville county, near Double Bridges, on Rocky river, and there my father taught another school on the Harleston place, and here we were at the time of the noted cold Saturday in 1835. We remained here some time and then moved up into the edge of Anderson county, on Hen Coop creek, remained a short time and moved to old Laurens factory, on Big Rabun creek, in Laurens county. We children went into the cotton factory to work and my father went in the grist mill. When we had worked about three months the factory burned down.

My father then put up a school near the burnt factory, and I worked with the Messrs. Whites at building a new factory, which was fluished, but they never got machinery in it, and the Whites moved away, Robert White to Georgia and William to Mississippi.

While living at Burnt Factory my mother gave birth to another son on the 7th of April, 1837. On the night of the 24th of December in the same year, my father died from an attack of choking quinsy, after an illness of two days.

At my father's death we were left in rather a bad condition—the family all girls except the baby and myself and I was too young to attend to business.

Before proceeding any further, I will state that I never went to school after my father's death, but went regularly to work from that time on.

After father's death my mother consulted with the neighbors as to what would be the best thing for her to do under the circumstances in which she was left.

She was advised to go, if she could do so, to a cotton factory. Accordingly, my oldest sister and myself went to the Reedy river factory in Greenville, owned by Vardry McBee, and very readily made arrangements with Colonel Leonard Allen, superintendent of the factory, to move there immediately.

Accordingly we moved in March, 1838.

When I first moved to Reedy River factory and for some time afterwards, the factory ran day and night, having two sets of hands, who relieved each other at mid-day and mid-night. My sister and I were what were called morning hands. We went to work at midnight and worked until mid-day. I have often gone to sleep standing upon my feet.

This same spring my mother was taken sick with fever, and my little brother Reuben C, Reid, then a little over a year old, had to be weaned. With the fever my mother took an internal disease with which she died fourteen years afterwards. I have known my mother's condition to be such that for a year at a time she was unable to leave the house. There is no telling what that good woman suffered for fourteen years.

In 1839 my oldest sister, Lucinda, married Edward McCarthy, and moved to Greenville Courthouse, while we moved to a small factory on South Tyger river called Hutchins' Factory, owned in part by Rev. Thomas Hutchins, an Englishman by birth and the most talented preacher (of the Methodist denomination), I ever knew. In about eight months after moving there the owners of the factory disagreed and the factory shut down and was afterwards sold. When this occurred we moved back to Greenville, to a paper mill owned by Andrew Patterson.

The paper mill was only one mile above the Reedy River factory.

In the year 1840 my sister and her husband separated and she came home to us again, and in the summer of 1840 her daughter was born, who is now living at Piedmont factory, the wife of George Brownan and the mother of eleven children, of which nine are living, three being married.

While living at the paper mill I first became acquainted with John A. Cargill, a son of Clement Cargill. The man was never born of woman whom I would rather be with than J. A. Cargill.

After remaining at the paper mill about two years the owner, Mr. Patterson, failed, and the mill had to be sold. Patterson moved to Missouri. Bennijah Dunham bought the mill.

About that time we moved back to the McBee factory, otherwise called the Reedy River factory. I had reached the age of seventeen years, and Leonard Allen, the superintendent, took a great interest in me. He learned me all he could about machinery, and treated me precisely as he did his own son, John, who was one year younger than I. Unfortunately for me, after a year or two Mr. Allen died. He was next thing to a father to me.

For a while they got first one and then another incapable man to run the factory. I ran the factory and they got the pay. I finally grew tired of this and went to the Pendleton factory in December, 1843.

As I have stated, I moved to Pendleton with my mother and family in December, 1843. To attempt to tell one-tenth of my ups and downs would be more than I care about undertaking.

A young man was working in the factory whom I had worked with at the paper mill and known in Laurens when a child, named Henry Adkins, and another one on the place named Thomas Massey, whom I had also known in Laurens and Greenville, together with myself, cut a tremendous swell around about the old Pendleton factory for about two years. Massey in 1845 married Susan Dickinson, whom I had worked with several years. She is now a widow living at Piedmont with her son, Benjamin Massey, a good stone mason. I do not know what eventually became of Adkins. I left him at the Pendleton factory in December, 1845.

In 1845 I became of age, but still remained with my mother. The summer of that year was known as the dry summer. The factory lost a great deal of time for want of water.

I took several trips that summer up on Chauga creek, where I had lived when a little boy. I had a good time with the boys up there that summer, but a good deal bet-time with the girls. Some of them came to Sandy Springs camp meetings that fall, and there I had a still better time. Sandy Springs is near the factory.

I moved back to McBee factory in December, 1845, being gone just two years. I went to work in the factory again and also to looking around among the girls. I tell you I was beginning to be pretty bad among the girls at that time, but I could not help it.

I had not been in Greenville long when I found the only girl I ever dearly loved. Her father, John Tripp, had moved to the Dunham paper mill while I was at the Pen--dleton factory.

As soon as I became acquainted with Mary Tripp (always called Polly), I dropped all others, as I soon found that my future destiny was in her hands. I became a regular visitor at her father's house, and it was not long until I perceived that my dear little Polly was thinking well of me. At the same time, my friend John A. Cargill was courting Polly's sister, Matilda.

I shall not allude to the pleasure we four young people have had together. What one knew all knew, and it was not long before other people knew something about it too, for on the 22d of October, 1846, I was married to my darling Polly by Squire Cox, and just five weeks afterward friend Cargill was married to Matilda by the same man.

A little house was built for me at the factory and I moved into it with my wife. If ever a man was happy on this earth I was that man, in that little house and with that little woman.

On the 26th day of October, 1847, our son and only-child, Washington Irving Reid, was born. After remaining in the factory another year I left it and went to work at doing stonework with J. J. Lewis, who had recently married my sister Matilda.

About this time, McCarthy being dead, my sister Lucinda married William Smith.

Mr. Lewis and I moved down on Grove creek, in the Charles settlement. We worked about all over the country, and in Laurens, Newberry and almost everywhere, blasting rock principally.

In 1849 we got a large Job of work to do in Edgefield from Adam Eichelberger. I took my wife with me there and kept her with me for several months. When we had finished there we went back into Greenville, where we had left our things with mother and Sister Zillah, who was yet unmarried.

After coming back to Greenville I left Lewis and went on any own hook through Greenville, Anderson, Pickens, Abbeville, Laoirens and Newberry, working at my trade.

In January, 1851, having so much work to do in Newberry, I took my wife and child with me down on Broad river, ten miles above Alston, which was then being built and within two miles of where my mother was born and raised, I remained in Newberry for two years. The largest job of work I ever did for one man was for David Halfacre, in 1852, six miles below Newberry Courthouse on the Columbia road. This was the year of the great August freshet. I, with my little family, sat on a hill and watched the surging waters rush by all day when the river was at its height. It was on Sunday.

In the latter part of December, 1852, I moved back to Greenville, in night of where Pelzer factory now stands.

Sister Zillah had that year married Stephen Hicks.

I remained at this place one year, working around as usual, doing a great deal of work at Williamston, in Anderson county, just about that time being built up. At that time the Greenville and Columbia railroad was being built.

I remained here one year and moved up to within five miles of Greenville and one mile from the old paper mill where my wife's father still lived, as was also my friend Cargill, bossing the paper factory. During my stay of four years at this place my wife's father, John Tripp, died.

I still followed my trade, which kept me the greater part of my time away from home. I worked a great deal about Greenville Courthouse, for Joab Mauldin, James Benson, Dr, Jones, Thadeus Bowling, Colonel T. E. Ware and many others. I also blasted out the well at the Greenville poorhouse, at the foot of Paris mountain. John Black was steward at the time. I also did a good deal of work around old Pickensville, Pendleton, Caesar's Head and elsewhere.

After living at the paper mill for four years, as I have said, I returned to within sight of Wilson's bridge, where Pelzer now is, and worked about as usual.

At one time I was at work twelve miles below Anderson Courthouse, near Holland's store, at a church called Shiloh. While there some neighbors, who wanted some work done, Colonel Thomas Parks, Alexander McClinton, E. J. Earle and others, persuaded me to move over into the neighborhood. Colonel Parks offered to move me and furnish me a house. I moved over in January, 1861, and worked about in the neighborhood until April, at which time I went to Virginia with the Fourth Regiment of South Carolina Volunteers. Of our travels and hardships there 1 have already informed you as best I could.

This day be peace and bread my lot,
All else beneath the sun Thou knowest whether best bestowed on not,
And let Thy will be done.

How often have I said during the war that I would thank my God if I could once more be at home with my little family and a piece of bread. If I had anything more I would highly appreciate it, but if not I could be happy.

I returned home to my family. I had the bread; I also had plenty of other things, or at least as much as nature called for. I was once more a free and happy man.

I went to work at my trade again, doing a good deal of work in Hart and Franklin county, Ga., and in Greenville, S. C. After two or three years I got to doing a great deal of work in Elbert county, Ga., below Elberton. I worked for Robert Hall, William Jones, Jr., the Heards, the Herndons, Judge Thomas, William Tate, and a great many others. I worked more or less in Elbert county for many years.

Two or three years after the war my wife was stricken with inflammatory rheumatism, which she never recovered from. Her illness kept me a great deal at home. I would only take such occasional trips as necessity compelled. About this time my son was married to Miss Cora McCoy, which made it necessary for me to be at home more than ever. In a year or two, however, she got a good deal better, and I was enabled to do a considerable amount of work. A time or two I attempted to make a little crop at home in the season, and work at my trade in the fall and winter and at odd times. I found to my sorrow that I could not do two things at one time. I made but little at home and less elsewhere, but I got along as best I could until April, 1889, at which time my wife again became ill and I remained with her until the end.

Those were dark and sorrowful days. She lingered until the 4th day of November, 1889, when she died, perfectly in her right mind and praising God. She requested her son and husband to meet her in Heaven. Thus died as good a mother, as true a wife and Christian and as kind a neighbor as has ever cheered the course of a husband's life.

My dear companion snatched away,
And I am left alone, In grief and sorrow here I stray,
And like a dove I mourn.
I wander here like Noah's dove
That from the Ark was sent, And when the evening shades appear
My heart is almost spent.
And when I lay my body down
Upon my bed to sleep, My dear companion's room I find,
Which causes me to weep.

My son got a fine metallic coffin and she was laid to rest at Rahamah church near Brown's Ferry, on the Savannah river, to which church she belonged.

And I am happy to state that my membership is also there. 1 had attached myself to the church before my wife's illness, to her inexpressible joy.

And let me say to the world that right there by the side of my darling, is where I want to be put when I cease wandering about seeking for the rest I cannot find.

I will now give a short account of my travels since the death of my wife, and then you will, in all probability, not hear from me Again.

After the death of my wife I was entirely alone. I remained in the settlement, staying at night first with one neighbor and then with another, until just before Christmas, when I had my effects taken to Hartwell, Ga., to my son's. I remained about Hartwell until the middle of the winter and then moved down to L. H. 0. Martin's, three miles below Elberton, in Elbert county, Ga. Martin had been wanting me to live with him for several years. He now wanted me to live with him as one of the family, as he said, and so I did, with the exception that I had a great deal to do, more, in fact, than I cared or was able to do without better pay. I was well treated, however, by the entire family.

In March I left Martin's and went to Piedmont factory, in Greenville county, S. C, where I remained until June, blasting in a well. I then returned to my son's, in Hartwell, and had my things brought back from Martin. I remained there until the 11th of September, and again went back to Piedmont, being promised a room and $1.50 a day. I had my things brought over, but could get no room of my own to put them in. I had to put some at one place and some at another as best I could, and pay board out of my pittance. They gave me the wagesy however, they had promised me, until about Christmas, when superintendent told me I would have to work for $1 a day or nothing. I quit, and had my things moved up to my sister's, near Woodville, where I have been writing these pages.

Since my wife's death I cannot content myself long at any one place.

I am now with my only living sister, my other sisters having died several years ago. My brother Reuben also died several years ago at Westminster, where his widow still lives. Sister Zillah and myself are all that are left of my father's family.

My sister, too, has seen her share of sorrow. Her husband was killed in the war, in 1864. Just after the war one of her children died, and a few years subsequently her eldest child, a daughter, who was married and had one child, was drowned, together with her child, in Grove creek.

My sister now has one unmarried son living with her, named Reuben.

As I have said, my things, such as I have, are with her, and here they will remain, unless I find a place I can call home, and some one to take care of them.

I am now done my writing and will be on the wing again. I have no idea where I may go. My son has such a large family it doesn't suit me to live with him.

I have a hope that this little book and a patent I own for blasting rock without danger from the explosion will enable me yet to have a home of my own to go to. Let me go where I will, my central office will be Woodville, Greenville county, S. C. In case any one would wish to correspond with me, that will be my post office.

Hoping that these writings may interest my readers in some degree, I remain yours truly, J. W. Reid.

Woodville, S. C., Jan 20, 1891.