Near Gettysburg we captured the camp and equipage of a force of Pennsylvania militia, and after

an exciting chase of several miles, our regiment succeeded in picking up over 300 of the bandbox

boys as we called them.

A few shots were fired on either side, but the yelling on our side would have done credit

to a band of Comanche Indians.

The main body of the fling enemy kept together in the highway, but many as they became exhausted,

sought refuge in the fields, orchards, and farm buildings by the way, and many laughable

incidents occurred as we gathered them in.

Six were found hid among the branches of a large apple tree.

One portly lieutenant, an attempting to crawl under a corn crib, had stuck fast by the

head and shoulders, leaving the rest of his person exposed.

Comrades Charlie Heisen and Morgan Feather had hard work to drag him out by the heels.

But the most fun came when we dragged from a family bake oven, a regimental officer,

who in his gold-laced uniform, was covered with soot and ashes.

He was a sight to behold.

Sergeant James H. Hodam, 17th Virginia cavalry, Jenkins Brigade, Yulscore.

We were having our regular literary exercises on Friday afternoon when the cry reached our

ears.

Rushing to the door and standing on the front portico, we beheld in the direction of the theological

seminary, a dark, dense mass moving toward town.

Our teacher, Mrs. Eister, at once said children run home as quickly as you can.

It did not require repeating.

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