THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
second staff officer to represent to corps-headquarters that to start my men again would be downright cruelty to them, and I begged that they be allowed to stay for the night where they were, unless there were real necessity for their marching on. In due time the answer came that there was such necessity. Now nothing was to be done but to obey instantly. My division bugler sounded the signal. There arose something like a sullen groan from the bivouac, but the men emptied the water, which was just beginning to boil in their kettles, upon the ground, and promptly fell into line. We had hardly been on the way half an hour when a fearful thunderstorm broke upon us. The rain came down in sheets like a cloudburst, driving right into our faces. In a few minutes we were all drenched to the skin. I wore a stout cavalry overcoat with cape, well lined with flannel, over my uniform. In an incredibly short time I felt the cold water trickle down my body. My riding boots were soon full to overflowing. One may imagine the sorry plight of the poor fellows in rags. They had to suffer, too, not only from the water coming down from above, but also from water coming from below. We were again passing through a hilly district. The road ran along the bottom of a deep valley with high ridges on both sides. From these the rain-water rushed down in streams, transforming the road into a swelling torrent, the water reaching up to the knees of the men, and higher. Meanwhile the thunder was rolling, the lightning flashing, and the poor sufferers stumbling over unseen boulders under the water, and venting their choler in wild imprecations.
At last, after having struggled on in this way for about two hours, we emerged from the wooded hills into a more open country—at least I judged so, as the darkness seemed to be a little relieved. The storm had ceased. Riding at the head of my column, I ran against a horseman standing in
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