. History of the First Light Battery Connecticut Volunteers, 1861-1865. Personal records and reminiscences. The story of the battery from its organization to the present time . n must never fall into the hands of the Unionists. He struck the spursinto the sides of the horse, and it seemed to him that not even the windcould be faster. He did not know which way to go. In the darkness of the night, withthe keen sense of danger nerving him, he rode on, trusting to chance toextricate him from his peril. He knew he was followed, he knew that hewould be pursued, and that only a few minutes
. History of the First Light Battery Connecticut Volunteers, 1861-1865. Personal records and reminiscences. The story of the battery from its organization to the present time . n must never fall into the hands of the Unionists. He struck the spursinto the sides of the horse, and it seemed to him that not even the windcould be faster. He did not know which way to go. In the darkness of the night, withthe keen sense of danger nerving him, he rode on, trusting to chance toextricate him from his peril. He knew he was followed, he knew that hewould be pursued, and that only a few minutes were his in which to escape. Fortune seemed to favor him for a time, for he lost the sound of thepursuers and breathed more freely. Comrade William Fowler was feeling nervous and could not sleep; headopted his usual remedy for insomnia, a short sharp walk. He rambledaround the outskirts of the camp, keeping within the lines, and thinking ofhome and the chances of a battle on the morrow. His sharp ears cauohtthe cry: Stop, spy! He listened and again heard it, but soon allsound died away, and he wondered if the poor fellow had been captured. 386 HISTORY AND REMINISCENCES. WlLLIA^sI U. FUWLER,of Oct. 20,1861; musteredin Nov. 2, 1861; discharged , 1S64; time expired. Chancing- to look up, he caught the glimpse of a horse, apparently rider-less, coming down the hill, directly towards the camp which was not far from headquarters. The little glimmer of light, to which Fowler had become accustomed by his ^^--^ wandering, revealed the horse, but no man on its ■■ ^;> cap back. The cry, Stop, spy, seemed as though *-. ^ it again sounded in his ears, and he at once thought the spy was on that horse, lying low, so that he might not be seen. Comrade Fowler was wearing his belt, fromwhich hung a leather holster, containing a heavyNavy revolver; the holster flap fastened over thepistol grip by a small brass stud, which wasriveted on the inside over a washer. When
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