One day during the period of my convalescence I lay in bed half dreaming. Grandmother sat on the west side of the stove in the south room, or kitchen.

Suddenly the door was thrown open and in rushed a blue-uniformed soldier and threw his arms around his mother's neck. It was uncle Rob home on furlough after having passed through the desperate and sanguinary battles of the Peninsular Campaign, Antietam, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, and Gettysburg. He was then, in truth, a veteran and he was a handsome and dashing looking man in his uniform.

After talking with his mother a few moments he came up to the bed-side and spoke to me. I shall never forget this scene while life lasts.

A few days after that the old house rang with the strains of music and shouts of laughter, while the merry dancers kept time to the music and patriotic songs were sung.

It was a dance given in honor of the veterans, who were home on furlough.

I was still too weak and sick to sit alone but grandmother held me in her lap & let me look on & see the dancing.

It was in this same room that within less than a year grandfather walked in with a letter from "Al" Thurlow and said: "Mother I have bad news for you." "What is it," said she, "is Robert killed?"

"No," said grandfather, "he is not killed but badly wounded."

A few moments before, while grand-father and I were in the yard near the door, Alpheus Thurlow had come up & said he had a letter from "Al," his brother, telling of the serious wounding of uncle Rob and also John Becker, in the battle of Dallas, Georgia, during Sherman's advance on Atlanta. After reading the letter grandfather went into the house & the conversation here alluded to took place.

It was in this old house that uncle Rob was married to Irene Kessler after the war closed.

One of the first things I recollect is going to school to aunt Susannah who was my first teacher. This must have been about 1860.

I recollect going to school one cold winter day and as I was crossing Mr. Willise's field uncle Rob overtook me and carried me part way on his back. This was probably during the winter of '60-'61 on a short time before Rob enlisted.

Another early recollection was of seeing Bertie Boylan standing by his mother's knee in the old farm-house one day when Boylan's people were there on a visit. As Bertie died April 27, 1859, I could have not have been much over three years old at the time.

Things seem dim and hazy up to the spring of 1861, and there are only occasional incidents I am able to recall. One of these is that Rob once shut me in the old smoke-house that stood back in the yard & so frightened me that I speedily came to terms and promised to be a better boy. As a child my temper was very violent when once aroused, a fault doubtless inherited from mother.

On another occasion when I had grown very angry and was shouting & screaming father held something over my mouth making me almost beside myself with rage.

The first recollection connected with the war was this: A flag-pole was being raised at the old stone school house in 1861, and there was to be a picnic in the grove near Mr. Willis's house.

I was on my way to the school house and was near the Willis house when uncle Rob passed me wearing his new uniform. This naturally attracted my attention & he became at once a hero in my eyes. At the school house I watched the men with long ropes slowly raising the "liberty pole," father having charge of the work.

On this pole during the war the stars and stripes were displayed whenever news came of a victory for the National arms. Little else is recalled of the day's proceedings, the two incidents referred to standing out more prominently than any others. It serves to illustrate that the new and unusual events are those which fix themselves in a child's mind.

Grandfather used to get papers containing accounts of the engagements fought, these were read & the columns eagerly scanned to see if any of the relatives had fallen in battle or were numbered among the missing.

During the progress of the war I was much interested for one of my years and asked many questions as to the probable outcome of the struggle. One day in reply to a question how the war would end (something difficult for me to understand), grandfather said that after awhile a great & decisive battle would whip and then the other side would give up & the war would end.

It was during those perilous years that Abraham Lincoln became my greatest hero, and the shifting scenes of 34 years have served only to intensify my admiration for this great man whose career reads like a romance, & whose great deeds & loving heart have made him the center of a nation's love.

The boys at school were fired with the spirit of patriotism which seemed to pervade the very atmosphere, and we drilled and marched and fought imaginary battles to our heart's content. I can easily imagine how the Spartan and Roman youths were educated to the stern spirit of war in those days of almost constant warfare. We generally formed two parties one representing the Union, the other the Rebel forces, and some desparate conflicts occurred.

One of the greatest pleasures of those early years was to be permitted to go on a visit to uncle Cyrus and aunt Mary Troys, who lived about three miles distant in Mount Pleasant township.

Here I was always sure to have a pleasant visit and kind treatment.

To go to the maple-sugar camp with them in the spring time & assist in carrying sap & watching the making of the sugar was a rare treat. Weltha Troy was nearly my age, being only six days younger than I, Viola was about two years or more younger.

Uncle Cyrus had a neat fair-sized barn, something rather unusual in those days, and he always had good horses. He was a good farmer and he and aunt Mary were always great favorites of mine.

The last time I visited their place shortly before our departure for Iowa in 1868, I left with the greatest regret. When I had reached the most distant point in the road at which their house could be seen, I turned and took a last, sad, farewell look at it and with reluctant steps walked on home.

That is nearly twenty-seven years ago & I have never seen the dear old place since then.

Brother Koss was a great tease and was always plagueing me or getting me into trouble. One time when there was company at our house he called me out and expressed great indignation over the fact that he and I had not been permitted to eat at the first table and proposed that we run away. I was so strongly impressed with the force of his argument that my consent was soon given and away we went. We brought up at Peter Rutledge's during the afternoon half-famished and nearly tired out.

The next day father found us there and took us home. I was probably about 6 or 7 years old at that time.

Koss one time went to Ed Rutledge's & finding them absent caught a pig and put it in the bed. At another time he rode a pet sheep belonging to Peter Rutledge nearly to death.

I was only about four years of age when I attended the first term of school at the old stone school house in Wisconsin. The school house stood on the east side of a north and south road on land owned by Solomon Willis, and was about 1/2 mile from our place.

We walked west across the open field nearly all the way to the school house - some 40 to 60 rods of the last part of the road was small timber.

The school house stood at the foot of a gently sloping hill some 80 rods in length & the coasting in winter time was fine and much enjoyed by us all.

The large boys would often take bob-sleighs to the top, load them heavily and then go rushing clear past the school house.

Unfortunately I did not own a sled like many of the other boys & had to depend upon the favor of others for rides.

In summer time ball playing, hunting lady-slippers in their season & various other games furnished us amusement.

Of my first term or two in school I recall very little.

Aunt Susannah, aunt Maggie, Rebecca Willis, Jennie Bradshaw nee Noble, Harriet Becker were some of my early teachers.

                         Wisht I Could.

          Wisht I could go back, a little, 'n be a boy agin
          A-jerkin' o' the minners with a little crooked pin
          'N hear the frogs a-gruntin' as I git 'em on the jump
          'N me skeered wusser'n they was, when they hit the water plump

          Wisht I could go loafin', cross the medder smellin' sweet,
          'N feel the sassy daisies a-ticklin' o' my feet,
          All the while a-noddin' 'n a-smilin' up at me --
          Wisht I could go back n' be like I uster be

          Wisht I could go t'morrer, n' find 'em all the same
          As they was the day I lef' t' make a bigger name
          'N see dear old mother -- always skeery --at the gate,
          Like she uster wait fer me, whenever I was late

          Wisht I could look in heaven 'n see her thare t'day
          'N git a tender smile o' love, like when I went away;
          I feel like it would help me to battle here with sin--
          Wisht I could go back awhile, 'n be a boy agin.

Recalling the scenes of early days when life was new and strange and the future seemed so far away, so full of promise, I find that anticipation was sweeter than realization.

The air-castles built in the long-ago, though pleasant to view then are now but shadows in which are seen but dimly the figures of those early friends & school-mates.

Sweet indeed are the memories which cluster around the old home and the old school-house and though time has changed the scenes and the actors therein it has not taken away the recollection of them.

	Continue with Part III
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	Bethany McFarland's Family Journals