My sensations as we approached what I supposed might be “a field of battle” were anything but agreeable.  I had been in all the engagements in Mexico that it was possible for one person to be in; but not in command.  If some one else had been colonel and I had been lieutenant-colonel I do not think I would have felt any trepidation.  Before we were prepared to cross the Mississippi River at Quincy my anxiety was relieved; for the men of the besieged regiment came straggling into town.  I am inclined to think both sides got frightened and ran away.

I took my regiment to Palmyra and remained there for a few days, until relieved by the 19th Illinois infantry.  From Palmyra I proceeded to Salt River, the railroad bridge over which had been destroyed by the enemy.  Colonel John M. Palmer at that time commanded the 13th Illinois, which was acting as a guard to workmen who were engaged in rebuilding this bridge.  Palmer was my senior and commanded the two regiments as long as we remained together.  The bridge was finished in about two weeks, and I received orders to move against Colonel Thomas Harris, who was said to be encamped at the little town of Florida, some twenty-five miles south of where we then were.

At the time of which I now write we had no transportation and the country about Salt River was sparsely settled, so that it took some days to collect teams and drivers enough to move the camp and garrison equipage of a regiment nearly a thousand strong, together with a week’s supply of provision and some ammunition.  While preparations for the move were going on I felt quite comfortable; but when we got on the road and found every house deserted I was anything but easy.  In the twenty-five miles we had to march we did not see a person, old or young, male or female, except two horsemen who were on a road that crossed ours.  As soon as they saw us they decamped as fast as their horses could carry them.  I kept my men in the ranks and forbade their entering any of the deserted houses or taking anything from them.  We halted at night on the road and proceeded the next morning at an early hour.  Harris had been encamped in a creek bottom for the sake of being near water.  The hills on either side of the creek extend to a considerable height, possibly more than a hundred feet.  As we approached the brow of the hill from which it was expected we could see Harris’ camp, and possibly find his men ready formed to meet us, my heart kept getting higher and higher until it felt to me as though it was in my throat.  I would have given anything then to have been back in Illinois, but I had not the moral courage to halt and consider what to do; I kept right on.  When we reached a point from which the valley below was in full view I halted.  The place where Harris had been encamped a few days before was still there and the marks of a recent encampment were plainly visible, but the troops were gone.  My heart resumed its place.  It occurred to