close with one related by Rev. Jeremiah Porter,' who was laboring in August among the troops of General Logan's Corps, in and about Louisville, Ky. It is characteristic of the devoted and energetic lady, whose care and kindness had won for her the title of "Mother of Sherman's Army":

Several regiments had been ordered to Texas; and there were indications of scurvy within their ranks. Energy and promptness could provide potatoes for them,—a capital anti-scorbutic. Mrs.

How Potatoes were sent to Texas.

Bickerdyke determined that they should have them. It was Sunday, and the troops were embarking; the potatoes must be drawn from the Sanitary rooms and shipped that day, or the men would suffer from the want of them. An ambulance was ordered for Mrs. B. and my wife; it was raining in torrents; they went to the Quartermaster's for the teams which had been promised the day before, and which the storm had delayed. The captain of one of the steamers had promised to take the potatoes.

The ladies waited in the storm until the army wagons were loaded with fifty barrels of the needed vegetables; and then, hastening in advance to the river bank, were astounded to find that the boats had already left the levee. The spectators volunteered to comfort them by remarking

"You're too late; the boats have gone."

"Gone! they shall come back," said Mrs. B., decisively.

Assuming an attitude of command worthy of Joan of Arc, waving her sun-bonnet and gesticulating with her hands, she made known her orders. The steamer obediently returned and took on board

the supplies.

1 At the outbreak of the war Pastor of the Edwards Congregational Church (now Seventh Presbyterian), Chicago.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE WESTERN ARMIES.

WORK ALONG AND NEAR THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER.

July 1863-Dec. 1865.

OUR last notices of the operations on the Mississippi were of the fall of Vicksburg. After that event Gen. Grant sent Sherman after Johnston, who had been hovering upon the verge of the Union Army, awaiting any opportunity that might offer to compel the raising of the siege. Sherman drove his adversary out of Jackson, after a painfully fatiguing march from Vicksburg. Mr. A. E. Chamberlain narrates an incident connected with this movement:

The 57th Penna. was one of the regiments which went with Sherman. The intense heat and fatigue of the rapid journey compelled the men to throw away their baggage. A soldier named Wilmarth had with him a Bible,-a mother's last gift. When

"It Brought me to Jesus."

he had thrown away his knapsack, he carried the book in his hand for a long distance, until the question of retaining it came to be one of life itself. At last, to keep up with the rest, he was obliged to leave it behind him on the road. He put it where he could see it for a long time as he marched away. When it had faded from view, he could not say that his burden was lighter than before.

When the expedition was ended, several fractions of regiments which had suffered greatly passed through Cincinnati. Among these was Wilmarth's. I went over on their arrival to see the Regimental

Hospital. For six weeks the men had had no changes, and were fearfully dirty and neglected-looking. Wilmarth lay on the first cot. He pulled the blanket up to hide his squalor and wretchedness. I had brought up some Scripture portions for distribution; but the moment I entered, I saw it was not the time for tracts in that room. The seventeen men needed another phase of Christ's Gospel.

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'Boys, you want clean clothes first of all," I said; and began taking an account of missing stock to be supplied. Coming to Wilmarth, I asked what could be done to make him more comfortable. "I was never a beggar in my life," he replied.

"My dear boy, this isn't begging; all I want to do is to pay a little installment on what we owe."

The Surgeon sent his ambulance to the Commission rooms for the goods, and within three hours I called again.

The three hours had certainly developed a revolution; one would not have known the place or the men's faces. Now was the time for Testaments. Coming to Wilmarth, I asked him if he had one. His answer was the incident of the march to Jackson. I put a copy of St. John's Gospel at his side, marked a few passages, and spoke of the great love to him. So with them all. Then, after a short service, I bade them good-bye, never expecting to see them again.

Two weeks afterwards, Rev. Mr. Chidlaw and I held Sunday service at Licking Hospital. I noticed a soldier leaning against a post; going to him, I asked if he was a Christian:

"I don't know, sir; I'm trying to be one." "How long have you been trying?”

"Ever since"-and he held up a little Scripture portion as he spoke-" ever since you gave me that book, sir."

I remembered him at once. Taking out a bright, new copy,-for his was already worn with use,-I asked

"Suppose you give me that one, and take this.”

"You could not get this book, sir, for the whole State of Kentucky; it brought me to Jesus."

Going over not long afterwards with reading matter, Wilmarth met me at the gate and said—

"Mr. Chamberlain, I want to ask a favor of you; would you mind giving me the reading you send over here to the hospital? I could talk to the men about Christ, if I had it to distribute "

I gladly assented to the arrangement, and until he was sent to his regiment, several weeks later, he did a faithful Chaplain's duty in that hospital.

The work along the Mississippi was mainly in the field of the St. Louis Committee of the Commission. Mr. K. A. Burnell and Mr. F. G. Ensign were its Agents, with their headquarters at Memphis. Some of Mr. Ensign's reminiscences follow:

In the Gayoso Hospital at Memphis, I found a soldier who had lost an arm and leg in the first grand assault on Vicksburg. I gave him some cordial, and made him as comfortable as I could. He asked in a surprised tone—

"Who are you? Where did you get these things?"

I told him how they came from Northern homes.

"I Haven't Done Anything."

"Who sent them ?" he asked again, in a kind of bewilderment. "The people at home who love you."

Tears came into his eyes as he lay quiet for a moment.

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Why," said he, "I haven't done anything to be remembered so." "You have given your leg and arm.”

But this fact did not strike him as at all important; he only reiterated," I haven't done anything." I told him I had a nice little Testament for him:

"My eyes are weak, sir; I'm afraid the print's too small," and he looked longingly at the book.

I gave him one of the beautifully-printed Scripture portions of the British and Foreign Bible Society.

'Well," said he, when he found that his eyes rested on the page without pain, "this is the best of all. I have been here for weeks, and I did want to read the Bible so. This is just what I want. Who sent it?"

"Those at home and across the sea who love you and pray for you."

I spoke to him of Jesus, and visited him often afterwards. He gave his heart to the Master.

About the beginning of November, a soldier of the 7th Indiana Cavalry came into our rooms, with soiled clothes and a worn appearance generally. Cut off from his comrades while on a scout, he had with much difficulty straggled back to Memphis. His first request was for envelopes and paper to write home. Bringing his letter to me, he said-

The Two Letters Home.

"Could you lend me a stamp? I have no money."

I told him I would mail the letter for him.

"Well, but," said he, argumentatively, "I want to pay for it."
"We don't take
any pay here."

"But how do you get these things to run the concern?”

I told him friends at home sent them:

"Whose friends? You don't mean mine?"

"Yes," I replied; "friends who are Christians sent them." "Why," said he, musingly, "my wife's a Christian."

"Very probably then, she helps to send such things."

I showed him an envelope, on which was printed, "This is a gift of Christian love to you, soldier." His eyes filled, as he read it: "I never knew religion meant this before."

In the afternoon, we began our daily prayer meeting with the hymn

"All hail the power of Jesus' name."

During the first prayer, I heard some one sobbing aloud. When the meeting was over, I found it was my soldier friend of the morning. He told me, that while passing the door, something urged him to enter; it seemed to him that he would be lost if he passed on, and that there was salvation if the inward voice was obeyed. We prayed for him, and with the confidence of a little child, the man there gave himself up to Jesus.

He came in the next morning. There was another letter to be written; it was to tell of a life turned at last into its right course, and it was to gladden the heart of a waiting, praying wife.

A soldier of the 89th Indiana came in one morning in the beginning of 1864, sat down at my desk and opened a letter. He sobbed aloud as he read it. I asked what I could do for him. He gave