Following the American Civil War Sesquicentennial with day by day writings of the time, currently 1863.

Post image for Three Years in the Confederate Horse Artillery — George Michael Neese.

Three Years in the Confederate Horse Artillery — George Michael Neese.

April 30, 2013

Three Years in the Confederate Horse Artillery — George Michael Neese.

April 30 — Rained nearly all last night, which it rendered very disagreeable, for we were without the least sign of a shelter. A trio of us, all old campaigners at that, were very indiscreet in choosing a bed-chamber on the lower floor of the outdoor hotel, and in a rather depressed portion of the floor, and the impressive consequence was that the water ran under us just before day, and we had to get out of bed an hour or two before reveille to keep out of the water. No more bed-making in a sink hole for me on a rainy night, after this little striking experience.

Renewed our march over a rough road, through a long narrow ravine drained by the headwaters of Dry River, and filled with wild mountain scenery from end to end. At some places the steep, rugged ridges rise almost perpendicular from the roadside, and huge masses of moss-covered rocks stand out in bold relief from the evergreen tangle that hides the roughness of the craggy acclivities.

We passed Rawley Springs to-day, situated on a grassy hillside rising from the right bank of Dry River, twelve miles northwest of Harrisonburg. The environments of the Springs are delightful, the scenery is just picturesque enough to hang between the mountain hills and the plain, and its enjoyableness is greatly enhanced by the wild sweet music of the river’s soft roar as it murmuringly rolls from its umbrageous mountain wanderings to roam among the sunny fields of the open valley near by. Rawley is a pleasant summer resort of local reputation, and judging from the thick coating of rust on the old tin cup that hung by the spring the water is strongly impregnated with iron, therefore has valuable medicinal qualities.

Little before sunset we arrived at our old camp near Harrisonburg, and as a fitting finale to our mountain expedition we had a hard thunder shower just as we reached camp. I had built myself a good shelter in our camp before we started to West Virginia, which was waterproof in any common rain. This evening after we came back to our old camp I went to my house with the intention of occupying it, but when I looked in at the door I saw an old sow lying in my bedroom, with at least a bushel of new pigs around her, and from all appearances my house is where they first saw the light.

Previous post:

Next post: