William E. Ogborn, of Co. I, was a bright and intelligent boy, a mother's joy and pride. He went into our regiment full of hope and manly aspirations, followed by a mother's love and prayers, and carrying with him needles, buttons, thread, and many little et ceteras as reminders of a mother's care. On that terrible New Year's eve, when the regiment started on the four days' scout which lasted three months, he was among the first to get ready. His knapsack, with his name in large letters upon it, was left in our care. When his comrades came back to us at Mooresville, from that fatal scout, Ogborn was not with them, and for the first time we opened his knapsack, and there we found the identical needle-book which his mother gave him; some of the thread and buttons, and many other useful trinkets. Corpl. Records took charge of most of his effects, and at the close of the war carried them to his mother, and in a letter to the author most beautifully and truthfully describes the scene that followed. Comrade Records says: "Ogborn's mother never gave up hoping for 'poor Will,' until the last survivor returned, and I carried to her the few mementoes that Ogborn gave me just a few days before we lost him. Said he: 'Henry, if anything should happen to me, I want you to take charge of my things, and carry them to my mother.' In a few days after I got home I took the things and carried them to his mother, and when I gave them to her she said: 'Oh, I understand, now' (and there was a vacant stare in her eyes as she spoke,) 'that my poor boy is gone! gone!! never, never to return! I have kept myself believing that finally, when the last prisoner was set free, it would be found that my dear boy was alive, and that when all came home, he would come, too; but I see now that there is no hope.' She lived until the next spring, and then died. The neighbors said no one knew what ailed her, but that it was thought to be heart disease. Ah, that was it--a broken-hearted mother! She, too, a victim of Andersonville.