he sought the shelter of rocks and hills.  You drove him from his position, leaving scores of his bloody dead unburied.  His artillery thundered against you, but you compelled him to flee by the light of his burning stores, and to leave even the banner of his rebellion behind him.  I greet you as brave men.  Our common country will not forget you.  She will not forget the sacred dead who fell beside you, nor those of your comrades who won scars of honor on the field.

“I have recalled you from the pursuit that you may regain vigor for still greater exertions.  Let no one tarnish his well-earned honor by any act unworthy an American soldier.  Remember your duties as American citizens, and sacredly respect the rights and property of those with whom you have come in contact.  Let it not be said that good men dread the approach of an American army.

“Officers and soldiers, your duty has been nobly done.  For this I thank you.”

The battle had been won, but the victorious army was in jeopardy.  They had less than three days’ rations, and there were great difficulties in the way of procuring a further supply.  The rainy season had made the roads impassable for all but horsemen.

Still there was the river.  But the Big Sandy was now swollen beyond its banks, and the rapid current was filled with floating logs and uptorn trees.  The oldest and most experienced boatmen shook their heads, and would not attempt the perilous voyage.

What was to be done?

Col.  Garfield had with him Brown, the scout and ex-canal-boatman, who had returned from reconnoitering Marshall’s camp, with a bullet through his hat.  Garfield asked his advice.

“It’s which and t’other, General Jim,” he answered, “starvin’ or drownin’.  I’d rather drown nur starve.  So gin the word, and, dead or alive, I’ll git down the river!”

Garfield gave the word, but he did not let the brave scout go alone.  Together in a small skiff they “got down the river.”  It was no light task.  The Big Sandy was now a raging torrent, sixty feet in depth, and, in many places, above the tops of the tall trees which grew along its margin.  In some deep and narrow gorges, where the steep banks shut down upon the stream, these trees had been undermined at the roots, and, falling inward, had locked their arms together, forming a net-work that well-nigh prevented the passage of the small skiff and its two navigators.  Where a small skiff could scarcely pass, could they run a large steamboat loaded with provisions?

“Other men might ask that question, but not the backwoods boy who had learned navigation on the waters of the Ohio and Pennsylvania Canal.  He pushed to the mouth of the river, and there took possession of the Sandy Valley, a small steamer in the quartermaster’s service.  Loading her with supplies, he set about starting up the river, but the captain of the boat declared the thing was impossible.  Not stopping to argue the point, Garfield ordered him and his crew on board, and himself taking the helm, set out up the river.