EARLY in the morning of the 3d of July, 1863, a long, straggling column of Federal prisoners, captured during the preceding day on the battle-field of Gettysburg, was marching on the Chambersburg road to the rear of the Rebel lines. With the gray dawn we had seen General Lee and his staff making their way to the front ; and soon after, the fearful cannonading commenced which opened the contest of that memorable day. On reaching Willoughby creek we were halted, and lay down to rest in the woods. We were only three miles from the field of battle, and the incessant reverberations of the artillery, and the rapid discharges of musketry, reached our ears with a, continuous roar, which told how bloody was the struggle, and how well disputed the ground. The following day we heard rumors of the repulse and defeat of the Rebels, and unmistakable indications soon led us to believe that our captors were in full retreat.

On that 4th of July, so glorious for our arms, our column was once more started, drenched with the torrents of rain which fell without intermission. The Rebel trains and artillery were moving rapidly in the direction of Chambersburg. Before we had proceeded far we were joined by the prisoners captured during the engagement of the 1st, making an aggregate of about two thousand. We were marched steadily over the rough mountain roads until after midnight, having proceeded as far as Monterey Springs. It would be difficult to give a description which could do justice to the trials of that weary night-march ; we were pressed forward at the utmost speed of which we were capable, and many, unable to keep up with the column, fell exhausted by the road side. Along with us were long trains of wagons, and a motley assortment of vehicles of all kinds, impressed from the farmers of the neighborhood, loaded with the Rebel wounded.

The next morning, before we had time to partake of a generous breakfast prepared for us by some of the inhabitants of the place, we were again ordered into line, and resumed our march towards Hagerstown. We had proceeded but a short distance when we heard rapid firing in . our rear, and we flattered ourselves with the hope that we might yet be rescued. The cannonading, we ascertained, was by the artillery of General Kilpatrick, who was harassing the Rebels in their retreat, and endeavoring to cut off their trains. We could distinctly see the shells from the Federal pieces burst in the vicinity of the Monterey House. This day's march was also a trying one ; worn out, and most of us with torn shoes and bleeding feet, we were urged on at our utmost speed, over slippery, stony roads, and through mud, that in many places was knee-deep. We were, besides, compelled to follow close behind a wagon train, which brought our column to a halt in every hundred yards.
Late in the evening we passed through Waynesboro, and continued marching all night without being allowed an hour of rest or sleep, and urged on in many cases, at the point of the bayonet.

At nine o'clock next morning we reached Hagerstown, but were hurried on through it to within one mile of Williamsport, Md., where we were allowed a few hours of repose. The suffering among us from fatigue and exhaustion, owing to the fearful rate at which we had been marched, and from hunger and wet, and in many cases from wounds, may readily be conceived.

All along the road from Hagerstown to Williamsport we noticed indications of General Kilpatrick's cavalry dash into Hagerstown. Our dead cavalrymen were lying in the road, and on either side of it, completely stripped of their clothing, and dead horses, broken caissons, and other remains of the conflict, were scattered here and there.

The excessive rains which had set in on the 4th, had not yet ceased,-it poured in torrents clay and night. Whilst we lay near Williamsport, rations of flour and beef were distributed. among us. We were, of course, compelled to do our own cooking. We roasted the beef on the end of a stick, and mixed the flour into a paste with water, and baked it on stones in front of the fire. This wretched condition of our commissariat continued unimproved during all the rest of our journey through the valley of Virginia.

On the 8th we were marched through Williamsport to the rope-ferry, on the Potomac. The river, swollen by the recent rains, was not crossable at any of the neighboring fords. This rope-ferry was, at that time, the only means the Rebels had of crossing the stream. The crossing was a slow and tedious process, though no doubt more so to the Rebels than to ourselves, for we felt that after the Potomac should be between us and our army there would be no hope of rescue, and but few opportunities for escape.

We had been told that once on Virginia soil our march to Staunton would be made by easy stages, and that the provisions furnished us would be more abundant, and of better quality. Neither of these conditions, however, was realized. All the stores which could be collected were needed by their army, and even our guards fared but little better than ourselves.

By the 11th, we had reached a place called Washington Springs, five miles from Winchester. Here we first saw, in a copy of the Richmond Enquirer, the official report of the surrender of Vicksburg to General Grant. A round of hearty cheers went up from our column, and we pushed forward on our weary journey with a lighter heart, in spite of shoeless and bleeding feet, for we knew what joy was thrilling, at that moment, the great Union heart of the nation.

On the 13th, a portion of General Imboden's command took charge of our column. The guard consisted of Captain McNeil's Partisan Rangers, Captain Patterson's Company of Cavalry, and the 61st Virginia State Militia.

We were repeatedly compelled to countermarch through the fields, the streams which traversed the road being much swollen with the recent rains ; in passing Newtown, the turnpike was impracticable, owing to this cause, and we were forced to wade waist-deep through mud and water.

By the 16th, we had reached Harrisonburg, having marched successively through Middletown, Strasburg, Woodstock, Mount Jackson, and New Market. Three miles beyond Harrisonburg we were shown a tree with an inscription upon it, which marks the spot where the Rebel, Ashby, of cavalry fame, fell the previous year.
In our march through the several towns we had often drawn upon us the wrath of the inhabitants, especially the women, who more than once taunted us with remarks not calculated to prove very gratifying to our ears. Here and there, however, a Union kerchief was waved to us from some solitary window, and sometimes a fair face would bestow upon us a commiserative glance, or a sweet voice would bid us be of good cheer.

On the morning of the 18th, our jaded column entered the town of Staunton from the Winchester road. We were a squalid set, way-worn and weary, and covered with the dust of long foot-travel ; with haggard faces, and uncombed hair; some carrying their wounded arms in slings ; many with bare and lacerated feet; and all bearing the unmistakable impress of the days of hunger, exposure, and fatigue, through which we had just passed. We had been marched on foot a distance of nearly two hundred miles, through the mud and the heavy rains, through the dust and under the scorching 'summer sun ; for near three weeks we had lived chiefly on flour-paste and water ; we had been swept along in hurried marches with the retreating columns of the Rebel Army through Maryland, had slept night after night under pouring rains, and had finally walked the whole length of the great Valley of Virginia, over its stony hills and through its swollen streams, to the sources of, the Shenandoah. It was a beautiful country through which we had just passed, but it had presented no charms to weary eyes that were compelled to view it through a line of hostile bayonets ; we felt but little sympathy for the beautiful ; on our haggard countenances only this was written "Give us rest, and food."

On the evening of the same day, our sorry column was marched through the streets of Richmond from the depot of the Virginia Central Railroad to the Libby Prison. The gloomy and forbidding exterior of the prison, and the pale, emaciated faces staring vacantly at us through the bars, were repulsive enough, but it was at least a haven of rest from the weary foot-march, and from the goad of the urging bayonet. Had we known that we were entering this loathsome prison-house not to leave it again for many, many weary days and months, more than one heart would have grown faint with a mournful presentiment, for there were among us some who were doomed never to recross its threshold as living men.