"General McCook's brigade, be jabbers," he answered to my inquiry as to what regiment it was.

Right in front of me the line was full of Irish soldiers, and they were cooking supper.
I finally got over their breastworks, and was fearful I would run into some camp or headquarter guard, and the countersign would be demanded of me.

I did not know what to do in that case--but I thought of the way that I had gotten in hundreds of times before in our army, when I wanted to slip the guard, and that was to get a gun, go to some cross street or conspicuous place, halt the officer, and get the countersign.

And while standing near General Sherman's headquarters, I saw a courier come out of his tent, get on his horse, and ride toward where I stood.

As he approached, says I, "Halt! who goes there ?" "A friend with the countersign." He advanced, and whispered in my ear the word "United." He rode on.