The mere fact of Captain G.W. Shell being appointed to such a responsible position as Quartermaster by so strict a disciplinarian as Colonel Nance is a sufficient guarantee of his qualifications. Captain Shell entered the army as a private in the "State Guards," from Laurens, served one year as such, then as Regimental Quartermaster with rank of Captain for a part of two years. Then that office in the army was abolished and put in charge of a non-commissioned officer. Appreciating his great services while serving his regiment, the officials were loath to dispense with his services, and gave him a position in the brigade department and then in the division as assistant to Major Peck, retaining his rank. All that has been said of Major Peck can be truly said of Captain Shell. He was an exceptional executive officer, kind and courteous to those under his orders, obedient and respectful to his superiors. He was ever vigilant and watchful of the wants of the troops, and while in the abandoned sections of Virginia, as well as in Maryland and Pennsylvania, he displayed the greatest activity in gathering supplies for the soldiers. He was universally loved and admired. He was of the same age of Captain Peck, born and reared in Laurens County, where he returned after the close of the war and still resides, enjoying all the comforts emanating from a well spent life. For several terms he filled the office of Clerk of the Court of his native county, and served two terms in the United States Congress. He was the leading spirit in the great reform movement that overspread the State several years ago, in which Ben Tillman was made Governor, and South Carolina's brightest light, both political and military, General Wade Hampton, was retired to private life.

* * * * *

COLONEL D. WYATT AIKEN, OF THE SEVENTH.

As Colonel Aiken saw but little more service with the First Brigade, I will here give a short sketch of his life. I have made it a rule in this work, as far as practicable, to give a sketch at the end of the officer's service in the Brigade, but in this case I make an exception.

Colonel Aiken was born in Winnsboro, Fairfield County, S.C., March 17th, 1828. He graduated at the South Carolina College in the class of 1849. Was professor at Mt. Zion College for two years, and married Miss Mattie Gaillard in 1852, settling at "Bellevue" Farm, near Winnsboro. He became county editor of Winnsboro News and Herald, and was married the second time to Miss Smith, of Abbeville, and removed to that county in 1858. Was fond of agriculture, and was editor of various periodicals devoted to that and kindred pursuits.

In 1861 he volunteered as a private in the Seventh South Carolina Volunteers, and was appointed Adjutant of that regiment. At the reorganization of the regiment in 1862 he was elected Colonel to succeed Colonel Bacon, who declined re-election. At Sharpsburg he received a wound in the body, which for a long time was feared to be fatal. He, however, returned in June, 1863, and commanded his regiment in the Gettysburg battle, after which he was deemed unable for further active service in the field, and was appointed "commandant of the post" at Macon, Ga. This position he held for one year, and then discharged from the army as being unfit for further service.

After the war he was selected for three terms to the State Legislature. He was "Master of State Grange Patrons of Husbandry," and was twice President of the "State Agricultural and Mechanical Society of South Carolina." He was chosen Democratic standard bearer for Congress in the memorable campaign of 1876, and continually re-elected thereafter until his death, which occurred on April 6th, 1887.

Colonel Aiken was also one of nature's noblemen, bold, fearless, and incorruptible. He did as much, or perhaps more, than any of the many great and loyal men of that day to release South Carolina from the coils of the Republican ring that ruled the State during the dark days of Reconstruction.

* * * * *

CHAPTER XII

From Winchester to Fredericksburg.

The brigade remained in camp in a beautiful grove, about four miles beyond Winchester, until the last of October. Here the regiments were thoroughly organized and put in good shape for the next campaign. Many officers and non-commissioned officers had been killed, or totally disabled in the various battles, and their places had to be filled by election and promotion. All officers, from Colonel down, went up by regular grades, leaving nothing but the Third Lieutenants to be elected. The non-commissioned officers generally went up by promotion also, where competent, or the Captains either promoted them by regular grade or left the selection to the men of the company. We had lost no field officer killed, except Lieutenant Colonel Garlington, of the Third, and Major Rutherford was promoted to that position, and Captain R.C. Maffett made Major. Several Lieutenants in all the regiments were made Captains, and many new Lieutenants were chosen from the ranks, so much so that the rolls of the various companies were very materially changed, since the reorganization in April last. Many of the wounded had returned, and large bodies of men had come in from the conscript camps since the reorganization. The Seventh Regiment had lost heavier, in officers and men, than any of the regiments. Colonel Aiken was wounded at Sharpsburg, and never returned only for a short time, but the regiment was commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Bland until the resignation of Colonel Aiken, except when the former was himself disabled by wounds.

Camp guards were kept up around the brigade, and regimental pickets, some two or three miles distant, about every two weeks. We had company and regimental drills about four times per week, and, in fact, we drilled almost every day, now that we were not on the actual march. The turn-pike road from Winchester to Staunton, ninety miles, for weeks was perfectly lined with soldiers returning at the expiration of their furloughs, or discharged from hospital, and our convalescent sick and wounded from the Maryland campaign going homeward.

On the 27th or 28th of October orders came to move. Longstreet took the lead, with McLaws' and Anderson's Divisions in front. General Lee had divided his army into two corps; the Department of Richmond having created the rank of Lieutenant General, raised Longstreet and Jackson to that grade in Lee's Army. Longstreet's Corps consisted of McLaws' Division, composed of Kershaw's, Barksdale's, Cobb's, and Semmes' Brigades, and Anderson's, Hood's, Pickett's, and Ransom's Divisions. Jackson's Corps consisted of D.H. Hill's, A.P. Hill's, Ewell's, and Taliaferro's Divisions. We marched by way of Chester Gap over the Blue Ridge, and came into camp near Culpepper on the 9th of November. The enemy had crossed the Potomac and was moving southward, by easy stages, on the east side of the mountain.

On the 5th of October General McClellan was removed from the command of the Army of the Potomac and Major General Burnsides, a corps commander, was made Commander-in-Chief in his stead. This change was universally regretted by both armies, for the Northern Army had great confidence in the little "Giant," while no officer in the Union Army was ever held in higher esteem by the Southern soldiers than little "Mack," as General McClellan was called. They admired him for his unsurpassed courage, generalship, and his kind and gentlemanly deportment, quite in contrast to the majority of Union commanders.

General Burnsides, who had succeeded McClellan, now divided his army by corps in three grand divisions—General Sumner, commanding the Right Grand Division, composed of the Second and Ninth Corps; General Hooker, the center, with the Third and Fifth Corps; and General Franklin, the left, with the First and Sixth Corps. So both armies had undergone considerable changes, and were now moving along on converging lines towards a meeting point to test the mettle of the new commanders and organizations.

We remained in camp around Culpepper until the morning of the 18th of November, when the march was resumed, by McLaws taking the road leading to Fredericksburg, headed by General Longstreet in person, and another division south along the line of the railroad in the direction of the North Anna River, the other divisions of the corps remaining stationary, awaiting developments. Jackson had not yet crossed the Blue Ridge, and General Lee was only waiting and watching the move of Burnsides before concentrating his army at any particular place. It was unknown at this time whether the Federal commander would take the route by way of Fredericksburg, or follow in a straight course and make the North Anna his base of operations. The cavalry, making a demonstration against the enemy's outposts, found the Union Army had left and gone in the direction of Fredericksburg. Then Lee began the concentration of his army by calling Jackson on the east side of the Blue Ridge and Longstreet down on the south side of the Rappahannock. We crossed the north fork of the Rappahannock at a rocky ford, two miles above the junction of the Rapidan and just below the railroad bridge, on a cold, blustery day, the water blue and cold as ice itself, coming from the mountain springs of the Blue Ridge, not many miles away. Some of the men took off their shoes and outer garments, while others plunged in just as they marched from the road. Men yelled, cursed, and laughed. Some climbed upon the rocks to allow their feet and legs to warm up in the sun's rays, others held up one foot for awhile, then the other, to allow the air to strike their naked shins and warm them. Oh! it was dreadfully cold, but such fun! The water being about three feet deep, we could easily see the rocks and sands in the bottom. The men who had pulled off their shoes and clothing suffered severely.

There was a man in my company who was as brave and as good a soldier as ever lived, but beyond question the most awkward man in the army. His comrades called him "mucus," as some one said that was the Latin for "calf." This man would fall down any time and anywhere. Standing in the road or resting on his rifle, he would fall—fall while marching, or standing in his tent. I saw him climb on top of a box car and then fall without the least provocation backwards into a ten-foot ditch. But in all his falling he was never known to hurt himself, but invariably blamed somebody for his fall. When he fell from the car, and it standing perfectly still, he only said: "I wish the d——n car would go on or stand still, one or the other." The road leading to the river makes a bend here, and between the bend and river bank an abutment of logs, filled in with stone to the height of fifteen feet, was built to prevent the water from encroaching upon the land. "Mucus," for no cause whatever that anyone could learn, quit the ranks and walked out on this abutment and along down its side, keeping near the edge of the water, but fifteen feet above, when, to the unaccountability of all, he fell headlong down into the river. The water at this point was not more than three or four feet deep, but deep enough to drench him from head to foot. He rose up, and as usual, quick to place the blame, said: "If I knew the d——n man who pushed me off in the water, I'd put a ball in him." No one had been in twenty feet of him. All the consolation he got was "how deep was the water, 'Mucus'?" "Was the water cold?" But awkward as he was, he was quick-witted and good at repartee. He answered the question "how deep was the water?" "Deep enough to drown a d——n fool, if you don't believe it, go down like I did and try it."

When we reached the other side we were told "no use to put on your shoes or clothing, another river one mile ahead," the Rapidan here joining the Rappahannock. Those who had partly disrobed put their clothing under their arms, shoes in their hands, and went hurrying along after the column in advance. These men, with their bare limbs, resembled the Scotch Highlanders in the British Army, but their modesty was put to the test; when about half-way to the other stream they passed a large, old-fashioned Virginia residence, with balconies above and below, and these filled with ladies of the surrounding country, visitors to see the soldiers pass. It was an amusing sight no less to the ladies of the house than to the men, to witness this long line of soldiers rushing by with their coat-tails beating a tattoo on their naked nether limbs. The other stream was not so wide, but equally as cold and deep.

General Kershaw, sitting on his horse at this point, amusing himself at the soldiers' plight, undertook to encourage and soothe their ruffled feelings by giving words of cheer. "Go ahead, boys," remarked the General, "and don't mind this; when I was in Mexico—" "But, General, it wasn't so cold in Mexico, nor did they fight war in winter, and a horse's legs are not so tender as a man's bare shins," were some of the answers given, and all took a merry laugh and went scudding away.

Passing over, we entered the famous Wilderness, soon to be made renowned by the clash of arms, where Lee and Hooker met and shook the surrounding country with the thunder of their guns a few months afterwards, and where Grant made the "echoes ring" and reverberate on the 5th and 6th of May, the year following. We found, too, the "Chancellor House," this lone, large, dismal-looking building standing alone in this Wilderness and surrounded on all sides by an almost impenetrable forest of scrubby oaks and tangled vines. The house was a large, old-fashioned hotel, situated on a cleared plateau, a piazza above and below, reaching around on three sides. It was called "Chancellorsville," but where the "ville" came in, or for what the structure was ever built, I am unable to tell. This place occupied a prominent place in the picture of the Battle of Chancellorsville, being for a time the headquarters of General Hooker, and around which the greater part of his cannon were placed. We took up camp in rear of Fredericksburg, about two miles south of the city.

While here we received into our brigade the Fifteenth South Carolina Regiment, commanded by Colonel DeSaussure, and the Third Battalion, composed of eight companies and commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Rice. As these are new additions, it will be necessary to give a brief sketch of their organization and movements prior to their connection with Kershaw's Brigade.

Soon after the battle of Bull Run or First Manassas, the Richmond Government made a call upon the different States for a new levy to meet the call of President Lincoln for three hundred thousand more troops to put down the Rebellion. The companies that were to compose the Fifteenth Regiment assembled at the old camping ground at Lightwood Knot Spring, three miles above Columbia. They were:

Company A——Captain Brown, Richland. Company B——Captain Gist, Union. Company C——Captain Lewie, Lexington. Company D——Captain Warren, Kershaw. Company E——Captain Davis, Fairfield. Company F——Captain Boyd, Union. Company G——Captain McKitchen, Williamsburg. Company H——Captain Farr, Union. Company I——Captain Koon, Lexington. Company K——Captain Bird, ——

(These names are given from the best information obtainable and may not be exactly correct, but as the fortunes of war soon made radical changes it is of little moment at this late date.) These companies elected for their field officers:

Colonel——Wm. DeSaussure. Lieutenant Colonel——Joseph Gist. Major ——

The regiment remained in camp undergoing a thorough course of instruction until Hilton Head, on the coast of South Carolina, was threatened; then the Fifteenth was ordered in the field and hurried to that place, reaching it on the afternoon of the day before the battle of that name. The Fifteenth, with the Third Battalion and other State troops, was placed under the command of Brigadier General Drayton, also of South Carolina, and put in position. The next day, by some indiscretion of General Drayton, or so supposed at that time, the Fifteenth was placed in such position as to be greatly exposed to the heavy fire from the war vessels in the harbor. This caused the loss of some thirty or forty in killed and wounded. The slaughter would have been much greater had it not been for the courage and quick perception of Colonel DeSaussure in maneuvering them into a place of safety. After the battle the regiment lay for some time about Hardeesville and Bluffton doing guard and picket duty, still keeping up their course of daily drills. They were then sent to James Island, and were held in reserve at the battle of Secessionville. After the great Seven Days' Battles around Richmond it and the Third Battalion were ordered to Virginia and placed with a regiment from Alabama and one from Georgia in a brigade under General Drayton. They went into camp below Richmond as a part of a division commanded by Brigadier General D.R. Jones, in the corps commanded by Longstreet. When Lee began his march northward they broke camp on the 13th of August, and followed the lead of Longstreet to Gordonsville, and from thence on to Maryland. They were on the field during the bloody battle of Second Manassas, but not actually engaged, being held in the reserve line on the extreme right. At South Mountain they received their first baptism of fire in a battle with infantry. On the memorable 17th of September at Sharpsburg they were confirmed as veteran soldiers in an additional baptism of blood. However, as yet considered raw and undisciplined troops, they conducted themselves on each of these trying occasions like trained soldiers. Colonel DeSaussure was one of the most gallant and efficient officers that South Carolina ever produced. He was a Mexican War veteran and a born soldier. His attainments were such as fitted him for much higher position in the service than he had yet acquired. Had not the fortunes of war laid him low not many miles distant one year later, he would have shown, no doubt, as one of the brightest stars in the constellation of great Generals that South Carolina ever produced. After the return to Virginia Drayton's Brigade was broken up, and the Fifteenth and Third Battalion were assigned to the brigade of General J.B. Kershaw, and began its service in that organization on the heights of Fredericksburg.

* * * * *

THE THIRD BATTALION.

I am indebted to Colonel W.G. Rice for a brief sketch of the Third Battalion, or as it was more generally known in the army, "James' Battalion," after its first commander, (who fell at South Mountain, Md.,) up to the time of joining the brigade:

"On the fall of Hilton Head and the occupation of Port Royal by the enemy, the Governor of South Carolina issued a call for volunteers for State service. Among the companies offering their services were four from Laurens County. Lieutenant Geo. S. James having resigned from the United States Army, and being personally known to several of the officers of said four companies, they united in forming a battalion and electing him Major. The companies became known thereafter as:

"Company A—Captain W.G. Rice. Company B—Captain J.G. Williams. Company C—Captain J.M. Shumate. Company D—Captain G.M. Gunnels.

"All of Laurens County, the organization being effected at Camp Hampton, near Columbia, November, 1861, and where Major James assumed command. In December the battalion was ordered to Charleston, and from thence to White Point, near the coast. Here the battalion was strengthened by three more companies, making it now a compound battalion and entitled to a Lieutenant Colonel and Major. The additional companies were:

"Company E, from Laurens—Captain M.M. Hunter. Company F, from Richland—Captain D.B. Miller. Company G, from Fairfield—Captain A.P. Irby.

"Major James was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, and Captain W.G. Rice, as senior Captain, made Major, while Lieutenant J.M. Townsend was raised to the grade of Captain in place of Major Rice.

"In April, 1862, a reorganization was ordered, and the troops enlisted in the Confederate States' service. Both Colonel James and Major Rice were elected to their former positions, with the following company commanders:

"J.M. Townsend—Captain Company A. O.A. Watson—Captain Company B. William Huggins—Captain Company C. G.M. Gunnels—Captain Company D. W.H. Fowler—Captain Company E. D.B. Miller—Captain Company F. B.M. Whitener—Captain Company G.

"Early in June the battalion was ordered to James' Island, arriving there two days before the battle of Secessionville, but not participating in it. A short while afterwards it was ordered to Richmond, and there remained until the great forward movement of General Lee's, which resulted in the Second Manassas Battle and the invasion of Maryland. The battalion was now brigaded with Philip's Georgia Legion, Fiftieth and Fifty-first Georgia, and Fifteenth South Carolina Regiments, and commanded by Brigadier General Drayton. The battalion was under fire at Waterloo Bridge and at Thoroughfare Gap, and the brigade held the extreme right of Lee's Army at the Second Manassas Battle, but was not seriously engaged. The topography of the country was such that while the incessant roar of artillery could be distinctly heard during the day, no infantry could be heard, and the extreme right did not hear of the result of the great battle until General Robert Toombs marched by and shouted to his fellow Georgians: 'Another great and glorious Bull Run.' After repeated marches and counter-marches during the day, night put an end to the bloody struggle, and the troops lay down to rest. A perfect tornado of shot and shell tore through the woods all around us until deep darkness fell and the enemy withdrew, leaving the entire field to the Confederates."

After resting for nearly a week at Frederick City, Md., the battalion, with the Fifteenth South Carolina and the Georgians of Drayton's Brigade, was ordered to re-enforce General D.H. Hill, who was guarding Lee's rear at Crompton's Gap, in South Mountain. Here the South Carolinians were for the first time thoroughly baptized with fire and blood, and in which the gallant Colonel James lost his life. Of this battle Colonel Rice says:

"Late in the evening of September 14th the brigade reached the battlefield and deployed in an old disused road that crossed the mountain some four hundred yards to the right of the turn-pike. No enemy in sight. Failing to drive D.H. Hill from their front, the Federals made a detour and approached him by the flank. Two hundred yards from the road mentioned above was a belt of woods saddling the mountain, and at this point running parallel with the road. General Drayton, not seeing the enemy, ordered forward Captain Miller's Company as skirmishers to ascertain their whereabouts. Captain Miller had advanced but a short distance when he met the enemy in force. General Drayton ordered the command to forward and drive them from the woods. In the execution of this order some confusion arose, and a part of the brigade gave way, leaving the battalion in a very peculiar and isolated condition. There was a low rock fence running at right angles to the battle line, and behind this the battalion sought to protect itself, but it seemed and was in reality a deathtrap, for it presented its right flank to the enemy. It thus became only a question of a very short time when it must either leave the field or surrender. Right nobly did this little band of heroes hold their ground against overwhelming numbers, and their front was never successfully approached; but as both flanks were so mercilessly assailed, a short time was sufficient to almost annihilate them. Colonel James was twice admonished by his second in command of his untenable position, and that death or surrender was inevitable if he persisted in holding his ground, but without avail. The true soldier that he was preferred death to yielding. Just as night approached and firing began to cease, Colonel James was pierced through the breast with a minnie ball, from the effects of which he soon died."

Colonel Rice was dangerously wounded and left on the field for dead. But recovering consciousness, he found himself within the enemy's lines, that portion of his command nearest him having been withdrawn some distance in the rectifying of the lines. Colonel Rice escaped capture by crawling in a deep wash in the road, and was rescued by some skirmishers who were advancing to establish a new line. Colonel Rice gives this information in a foot-note: "The road in which the brigade was stationed was as all roads crossing hills, much washed and worn down, thus giving the troops therein stationed the advantage of first class breastworks. I do not know that the Fifteenth South Carolina and the other portion of the brigade were thus sheltered—have heard indeed that all were not—but within my vision the position was most admirable, now almost impregnable with good troops to defend it. To leave such a position was suicidal, especially when we were ordered to march through open ground and attack the enemy, sheltered behind trees and rocks. This is my estimate at least, and the result proved most disastrous to the brigade and General Drayton himself, as he was soon afterwards relieved of his command."

It has been the aim of the writer of this History not to criticize, condemn, nor make any comments upon the motives or acts of any of the officers whom he should have cause to mention, and he somewhat reluctantly gives space to Colonel Rice's stricture of General Drayton. It is difficult for officers in subaltern position to understand all that their superiors do and do not. The Generals, from their positions, can see differently from those in the line amid the smoke of battle, and they often give commands hard to comprehend from minor officers' point of view. General Drayton was an accomplished and gallant officer, and while he might have been rash and reckless at South Mountain, still it is hard to conceive his being relieved of his command through the charge of "rashness," especially when his brigade held up successfully for so long a time one of the most stubborn battles of the war.

At the Battle of Sharpsburg or Antietam, the little remnant of the battalion was again engaged. On Lee's return to Virginia, and during the last days of November or early in December, the Third Battalion and the Fifteenth Regiment were transferred to Kershaw's Brigade, and from thence on it will be treated as a part of the old First Brigade. At Fredericksburg, on the day of the great battle, the battalion held the railroad cut running from near the city to the right of Mayree's Hill, and was well protected by a bluff and the railroad, consequently did not suffer as great a loss as the other regiments of the brigade.

* * * * *

COLONEL GEORGE S. JAMES.

The first commander of the Third Battalion, and who fell at South Mountain, was born in Laurens County, in 1829. He was the second son of John S. James, a prominent lawyer of Laurens, who, meeting with misfortune and losing a handsome fortune, attempted to retain it by moving to Columbia and engaging in mercantile pursuits. This he followed with success. Colonel George S. James received his early education in the academies of the up-country. While yet a youth some seventeen years of age, war with Mexico was declared, and his patriotic and chivalric spirit sent him at once to the ranks of the Palmetto Regiment, and he shared the triumphs and fortunes of that command to the close of the war.

After his return to his native State, he entered the South Carolina College, along with many others, who in after years made their State and themselves immortal by their fiery zeal in the War of Secession. At the college young James was a great favorite of all who knew him best, and while not a close student of text-books, he was an extensive reader, always delighting his friends with wit and humor. The student life, however, failed to satisfy his adventurous spirit, and wandering away to the far distant West, seeking adventure or congenial pursuits, he received a commission of Lieutenant in the United States Army.

The storm cloud of war, so long hovering over the land, was now about to burst, and Lieutenant James seeing separation and perhaps war inevitable, resigned his commission, and hastened to offer his sword to his native State. He commanded a battery at Fort Johnson, on James' Island, and shared with General Ruffin the honor of firing the first gun at Fort Sumter, a shot that was to electrify the world and put in motion two of the grandest and mightiest armies of all times.

* * * * *

CHAPTER XIII

Battle of Fredericksburg—The Fifteenth Regiment and Third Battalion Join Brigade.

A portion of the Federal Army had preceded Lee, reaching the heights opposite Fredericksburg two days before the arrival of Kershaw's Brigade and the other parts of the division. The Federals had been met by a small body of Confederates doing outpost duty there and held at bay till the coming of Longstreet with his five divisions. General Lee was not long in determining the route Burnsides had selected and hurried Jackson on, and placed him some miles to our right, near Hamilton's Crossing, on the Richmond and Fredericksburg Railroad. When Burnsides became aware of the mighty obstacle of Lee's battalions between him and his goal, the deep, sluggish river separating the two armies, he realized the trouble that lay in his path. He began fortifying the ridges running parallel to and near the river, and built a great chain of forts along "Stafford Heights," opposite Fredericksburg. In these forts he mounted one hundred and thirty-seven guns, forty being siege pieces brought down from Washington by way of the Potomac and Acquia Creek, and lined the entire range of hills with his heaviest and long-distanced field batteries. These forts and batteries commanded the river and plain beyond, as well as every height and elevation on the Southern side. The range of hills on the opposite side were much higher and more commanding than those on the Southern side, still Lee began fortifying Taylor's, Mayree's, and Lee's Heights, and all the intervening hills also, by building forts and heavy redoubts, with protected embrasures on the flanks. Between these hills and along their crests the infantry threw up light earthworks. It could not be said that ours was a fortified position in any sense, only through natural barriers. There is a plain of a half to a mile in width between the river and the range to the South, commencing at Taylor's Hill, half a mile above the city, and widening as it diverges from the river below, terminating in a broken plateau down near Hamilton's Crossing. The highlands on the opposite side come rather precipitous to the water's edge. Along the banks, on either side, were rifle pits, in which were kept from three to five pickets, and on our side a brigade was stationed night and day in the city as a support to the videttes guarding the river front. These pickets were directed to prevent a crossing at all hazards until the troops at camp in the rear were all in position in front of Fredericksburg. Stuart, with the body of his cavalry, guarded the river and country on our right below Jackson, while Hampton kept a lookout at the crossings above on the left of Longstreet.

On the morning of the 11th, at 3 o'clock, when all was still and the soldiers fast asleep, they were rudely aroused from their slumbers by the deep boom of a cannon away to the front and across the river. Scarcely had the sound of the first gun died away than another report thundered out on the stillness of that December night, its echo reverberating from hill to hill and down along the river side. These sounds were too ominous to be mistaken; they were the signal guns that were to put in motion these two mighty armies. "Fall in" was the word given, and repeated from hill to hill and camp to camp. Drums beat the long roll at every camp, while far below and above the blast of the bugle called the troopers to "boots and saddle." Couriers dashed headlong in the sombre darkness from one General's headquarters to another's. Adjutants' and Colonels' orderlies were rushing from tent to tent, arousing the officers and men to arms, and giving instructions for the move.

I can remember well the sharp, distant voice of Adjutant Y.J. Pope on that morning, coming down the line of the officers' tents and calling out to each as he came opposite: "Captain ——, get your company ready to move at once."

Under such orders, companies have that same rivalry to be first on the parade ground as exists among fire companies in towns and cities when the fire bell rings. We were all soon in line and marching with a hasty step in the direction of the breastworks above the city, Kershaw taking position immediately to the right of the Telegraph Road. This is a public highway leading into the city, curving in a semi-circle around Mayree Hill on the left. From this road the hill rises on the west and north in a regular bluff—a stone wall of five feet in height bordering either side of the road. "Deep Run," a small ravine, runs between the hill on which Kershaw was stationed and that of Mayree's. Daylight was yet some hours off when we took position, but we could hear the rattle of the guns of Barksdale's Mississippians, whose turn it was to be on picket in the city, driving off the enemy's pontoon corps and bridge builders.

The city was almost deserted, General Lee advising the citizens to leave their homes as soon as it became apparent that a battle would be fought here. Still a few, loath to leave their all to the ravages of an army, decided to remain and trust to fate. But soon after the firing along the river began, we saw groups of women and children and a few old men in the glim twilight of the morning rushing along the roads out from the city as fast as their feeble limbs and tender feet could carry them, hunting a safe retreat in the backwoods until the cloud of war broke or passed over. Some Were, carrying babes in their arms, others dragging little children along by the hands, with a few articles of bedding or wearing apparel under their arms or thrown over their shoulders. The old men tottered along in the rear, giving words of comfort and cheer to the excited and frightened women and little ones. It was a sickening sight to see these helpless and inoffensive people hurrying away from the dangers of battle in the chilly morning of December, seeking some safe haunt in the backwoods, yet they bore it all without murmur or complaint.

Anderson's Division of Longstreet's Corps rested on the river on the extreme left, at Taylor's Hill; then Ransom's along the crest of the ridge between Taylor's and Mayree's, and McLaws' from his left across Deep Run Valley and along the ridge to Lee's Hill, where Pickett was posted; Hood extending from Pickett's right, touching the left of the troops of Jackson's Corps. Three of Cobb's regiments and one from North Carolina were posted behind the stone wall lining the sunken road, while two of Cooke's North Carolina regiments were on the crest of Mayree's Hill overlooking Cobb. Kershaw's Brigade, with the Third South Carolina on the left, was resting on the ridge running at right angles to the Telegraph Road, the left resting on the road, the Second South Carolina next, and so on to the left of Semmes' Brigade. Barksdale being in the city on picket, was relieved and placed in reserve.

As soon as the signal guns gave evidence of an impending battle, D.H. Hill, who had been sent on detached service down the river, was recalled and placed in line with the other portion of Jackson's Corps. Jackson had his entire force closely massed in the woodland around Hamilton's Crossing and along the Richmond and Fredericksburg Railroad, one mile from the river. The Light Division of A.P. Hill occupied the front line, with a heavy battery of fourteen guns on his right, supported by Archer's Brigade; then Lane's and Fender's in front, with Gregg's and Thomas' in reserve. Behind the Light Division lay Early on the right, Taliaferro on the left, with D.H. Hill in rear of all along the Mine Road, the right of these divisions resting on Hamilton's Crossing. Hood occupied the valley between Lee's Hill and the highland around Hamilton's Crossing; Pickett on the ridge between Hood and McLaws; Stuart's Cavalry ran at right angles to the infantry line from Hamilton's Crossing to the river, hemming the Federal Army in the plain between Hamilton's Crossing and Taylor's Hill above the city, a space three miles long by one wide.

Before day the enemy's pontoon corps came cautiously to the river and began operations at laying down the bridge, but the pickets in the rifle pits kept them off for a time by their steady fire. The manner of putting down army bridges is much more simple and rapid than the old country mode of building. Large boats are loaded on long-coupled wagons, the boats filled with plank for flooring and cross beams, with a large iron ring in the rear end of each boat, through which a stout rope is to run, holding them at equal distance when in the water. When all is ready the boats are launched at equal distance so that the beams can reach, then pushed out in the stream, and floated around in a semi-circle, until the opposite bank is reached, the rope fastened to trees on either bank, cross pieces are laid, the flooring put down, and the bridge is ready for crossing.

After making several ineffectual attempts in placing the bridge, the destructive fire of Barksdale's Riflemen forcing them back, the enemy attempted the bold project of filling the boats with armed soldiers, pushing out in the stream, and fighting their way across, under cover of their artillery fire. While the dense fog was yet hanging heavily over the waters, one hundred and forty guns, many siege pieces, were opened upon the deserted city and the men along the water front. The roar from the cannon-crowned battlements shook the very earth. Above and below us seemed to vibrate as from the effects of a mighty upheaval, while the shot and shell came whizzing and shrieking overhead, looking like a shower of falling meteors. For more than an hour did this seething volcano vomit iron like hail upon the city and the men in the rifle pits, the shells and shot from the siege guns tearing through the houses and plunging along the streets, and ricocheting to the hills above. Not a house nor room nor chimney escaped destruction. Walls were perforated, plastering and ceiling fell, chimneys tottering or spreading over yards and out into the streets. Not a place of safety, save the cellars and wells, and in the former some were forced to take refuge. Yet through all this, the brave Mississippians stood and bravely fought the bridge builders, beating them back till orders were given to retire. They had accomplished the purpose of delaying the enemy's crossing until our troops were in position. The Federals now hurried over in swarms, by thousands and tens of thousands, and made their way down the river, stationing a strong cordon of guards around the point of landing. The space between was soon a seething mass of humanity, the houses and streets crowded to overflowing. A second bridge was laid a mile below at the mouth of Deep Run, and here a continuous stream of all arms were soon pouring over. General Kershaw rode along our lines, encouraging the men, urging them to stand steadfast, assuring them that there was to be neither an advance nor retreat, that we were but to hold our ground, and one of the greatest victories of the war would be gained. How prophetic his words! All during the day and night the deep rumbling sound of the long wagon trains, artillery, and cavalry could be heard crossing the pontoon bridges above and below.

The next morning, the 12th, as the fog lifted, Stafford Heights and the inclines above the river were one field of blue. Great lines of infantry, with waving banners, their bright guns and bayonets glittering in the sunlight, all slowly marching down the steep inclines between the heights and the river on over the bridges, then down the river side at a double-quick to join their comrades of the night before. These long, swaying lines, surging in and out among the jutting of the hillsides beyond, down to the river, over and down among the trees and bushes near the water, resembled some monster serpent dragging its "weary length along." Light batteries of artillery came dashing at break-neck speed down the hillsides, their horses rearing and plunging as if wishing to take the river at a leap. Cavalry, too, with their heavy-bodied Norman horses, their spurs digging the flanks, sabres bright and glistening and dangling at their sides, came at a canter, all seeming anxious to get over and meet the death and desolation awaiting them. Long trains of ordnance wagons, with their black oilcloth covering, the supply trains and quartermaster departments all following in the wake of their division or corps headquarters, escorts, and trains. All spread out over the hills and in the gorges lay men by the thousands, awaiting their turn to move. Not a shot nor shell to mar or disturb "the even tenor of their way." Bands of music enlivened the scene by their inspiring strains, and when some national air, or specially martial piece, would be struck up, shouts and yells rended the air for miles, to be answered by counter yells from the throats of fifty thousand "Johnny Rebs," as the Southern soldiers were called. The Confederate bands were not idle, for as soon as a Federal band would cease playing, some of the Southern bands would take up the refrain, and as the notes, especially Dixie, would be wafted over the water and hills, the "blue coats" would shout, sing, and dance—hats and caps went up, flags waved in the breeze—so delighted were they at the sight and sound of Dixie. The whole presented more the spectacle of a holiday procession, or a gala day, rather than the prelude to the most sanguinary battle of modern times.

The night following was cold, and a biting wind was blowing. Only a few days before a heavy snow had fallen, and in some places it still remained banked up in shaded corners. To those who had to stand picket out in the plain between the armies the cold was fearful. The enemy had no fires outside of the city, and their sufferings from cold must have been severe. My company, from the Third, as well as one from each of the other regiments, were on picket duty, posted in an open cornfield in the plain close to the enemy, near enough, in fact, to hear voices in either camp—with no fire, and not allowed to speak above a whisper. The night became so intensely cold just before day that the men gathered cornstalks and kindled little fires along the beat, and at early dawn we were withdrawn.

All knew full well, as the day preceding had passed without any demonstrations, only maneuvering, this day, the 13th, would be a day of battle. A heavy fog, as usual, rose from the river and settled along the plains and hillsides, so much so that objects could not be distinguished twenty paces. However, the least noise could be heard at a great distance. Activity in the Federal camp was noticed early in the morning. Officers could be heard giving commands, wagons and artillery moving to positions. At half past ten the fog suddenly lifted, and away to our right and near the river great columns of men were moving, marching and counter-marching. These were in front of A.P. Hill, of Jackson's Corps. In front of us and in the town all was still and quiet as a city of the dead. The great siege guns from beyond the river on Stafford Heights opened the battle by a dozen or more shells screaming through the tree tops and falling in Jackson's camp. From every fort soon afterwards a white puff of smoke could be seen, then a vivid flash and a deafening report, telling us that the enemy was ready and waiting. From the many field batteries between Jackson and the river the smoke curled up around the tree tops, and shell went crashing through the timbers. Our batteries along the front of Longstreet's Corps opened their long-ranged guns on the redoubts beyond the river, and our two siege guns on Lee's Hill, just brought up from Richmond, paid special attention to the columns moving to the assault of A.P. Hill. For one hour the earth and air seemed to tremble and shake beneath the shock of three hundred guns, and the bursting of thousands of shells overhead, before and behind us, looked like bursting stars on a frolic. The activity suddenly ceases in front of Hill, and the enemy's infantry lines move to the front. First the skirmishers meet, and their regular firing tells the two armies that they are near together. Then the skirmish fire gives way to the deep, sullen roar of the line of battle. From our position, some three hundred yards in rear and to the right of Mayree's Hill, we could see the Union columns moving down the river, our batteries raking them with shot and shell. In crossing an old unfinished railroad cut the two siege guns played upon the flank with fearful effect. Huddling down behind the walls of the cut to avoid the fire in front, the batteries from Mayree's and in the fields to the right enfiladed the position, the men rushing hither and thither and falling in heaps from the deadly fire in front and flank. Jackson has been engaged in a heavy battle for nearly an hour, when suddenly in our front tens of thousands of "blue coats" seemed to spring up out of the earth and make for our lines. Near one-half of the army had concealed themselves in the city and along the river banks, close to the water's edge. The foliage of the trees and the declivity of the ground having hidden them thus far from view. From out of the streets and from behind walls and houses men poured, as if by some magical process or super-human agency, and formed lines of battle behind a little rise in the ground, near the canal. But in a few moments they emerged from their second place of protection and bore down upon the stone wall, behind which stood Cobb's Georgians and a Regiment of North Carolinians. When midway between the canal and stone fence, they met an obstruction—a plank fence—but this did not delay them long. It was soon dashed to the ground and out of their way, but their men were falling at every step from Cobb's infantry fire and grape and canister from the Washington Artillery of New Orleans on the hill. They never neared the wall nor did they take more time than to fire a volley or two before they fled the field. This retreating column of Franklin's met that of Hancock's, formed, and on its way to try issues with the troops behind the stone wall, Longstreet now saw what had never been considered before—that Burnsides was determined to possess himself of the key to Lee's position, "Mayree's Hill," in front of which was the stone wall. He ordered the two regiments of North Carolinians that were posted on the crest of the hill down behind the stone wall, to the left of Cobb and Kershaw, to reinforce the position with his brigade.

The Third Regiment being ordered to the top of Mayree's Hill, Colonel Nance, at the head of his regiment, entered the Telegraph Road, and down this the men rushed, followed by the Second, led by Colonel Kennedy, under one of the heaviest shellings the troops ever experienced. This two hundred yards' stretch of road was in full view and range of the heavy gun batteries on Stafford Heights, and as the men scattered out along and down the road, the shells passed, plowing in the road, bursting overhead, or striking the earth and ricocheting to the hills far in the rear. On reaching the ravine, at the lower end of the incline, the Third Regiment was turned to the left and up a by-road to the plateau in rear of the "Mayree Mansion." The house tops in the city were lined with sharpshooters, and from windows and doors and from behind houses the deadly missiles from the globe-sighted rifles made sad havoc in our ranks.



When the Third reached the top of the plateau it was in column of fours, and Colonel Nance formed line of battle by changing "front forward on first company." This pretty piece of tactics was executed while under the galling fire from the artillery and sharpshooters, but was as perfect as on dress parade. The regiment lined up, the right resting on the house and extending along a dull road to the next street leading into the city. We had scarcely gotten in position before Nance, Rutherford, and Maffett, the three field officers, had fallen. Colonel Kennedy, with the Second, passed over the left of the plateau and down the street on our left, and at right angles with our line, being in a position to give a sweeping fire to the flank of the columns of assault against the stone fence. From the preparation and determination made to break through the line here, Kershaw ordered Lieutenant Colonel Bland, with the Seventh, Colonel Henagan, with the Eighth, and Colonel DeSaussure, with the Fifteenth, to double-up with Cobb's men, and to hold their position "at the sacrifice of every man of their commands."

All of the different regiments, with the exception of the Third South Carolina, had good protection in the way of stone walls, this being the sole occasion that any of Kershaw's troops had been protected by breastworks of any kind during the whole war. The Second was in a sunken road leading to the city, walled on either side with granite, the earth on the outside being leveled up with the top. The maneuvering into position had taken place while Hancock was making the first assault upon the wall defended by Cobb. Howard was now preparing to make the doubtful attempt at taking the stronghold with the point of the bayonet, and without firing a gun. But with such men as the Georgians, South Carolinians, and North Carolinians in their front, the task proved too Herculean. Howard moved to the battle in beautiful style, their line almost solid and straight, their step in perfect unison with the long, moving columns, their guns carried at a trail, and the stars and stripes floating proudly above their heads. The shot and shell plunging through their ranks from the hills above, the two siege guns on Lee's Hill now in beautiful play, the brass pieces of the Washington Artillery firing with grape and shrapnel—but all this made no break nor halt in that long line of blue. The double column behind the stone wall and the Third South Carolina on the crest of the Hill met them in front with a cool and steady fire, while the Second South Carolina directed its attention to the flank. But the boldest and stoutest hearts could not withstand this withering blast of bullets and shells without returning the fire. The enemy opened upon us a terrific fire, both from the columns in front and from the sharpshooters in the housetops in the city. After giving us battle as long as human endurance could bear the ordeal, they, like their companions before them, fled in confusion.

Before making the direct attack, Howard attempted a diversion by endeavoring to turn Cobb's left. Passing out into the plain above the city, he was met by some of Cooke's North Carolinians, and there around the sacred tomb of Mary Washington was a hand to hand encounter between some New York and Massachusetts troops and those from the Pine Tree State. Sons of the same ancestry, sons of sires who fought with the "Father of his Country" in the struggle for the nation's independence, now fighting above the grave of the mother for its dissolution! Thrice were the Confederates driven from the position, but as often retaken, and at last held at the point of the bayonet by the hardy sons of North Carolina.

The battle, grand and awful in its sublimity, raged from the morning's opening till two o'clock, without the least abatement along the whole line. From the extreme right to our left at Taylor's Hill was a sea of fire. But Mayree's Hill was the center, around which all the other battles revolved. It was the key to Lee's position, and this had become the boon of contention. It was in the taking of Mayree's Hill and the defeat of the troops defending it that the North was pouring out its river of blood. Both commanders were still preparing to stake their all upon this hazard of the die—the discipline of the North against the valor of the South.

Our loss was heavy, both in officers and men. The brave, chivalric Cobb, of Georgia, had fallen. Of the Third South Carolina, Colonel Nance, Lieutenant Colonel Rutherford, and Major Maffett had all been severely wounded in the early part of the engagement. Captain Hance, while commanding, fell pierced through the heart. Then the next in command, Captain Summer, met a similar fate; then Captain Foster. Captain Nance, the junior Captain in the regiment, retained the command during the continuance of the fight, although painfully wounded. The dead of the Third Regiment lay in heaps, like hogs in a slaughter pen. The position of the Second Regiment gave it great advantage over the advancing column. From a piazza in rear of the sunken road, Colonel Kennedy posted himself, getting a better view, and to better direct the firing Lieutenant Colonel William Wallace remained with the men in the road, and as the column of assault reached the proper range, he ordered a telling fire on the enemy's flank. Men in the road would load the guns for those near the wall, thus keeping up a continual fire, and as the enemy scattered over the plain in their retreat, then was the opportunity for the Second and Third, from their elevated positions and better view, to give them such deadly parting salutes. The smoke in front of the stone wall became so dense that the troops behind it could only fire at the flashing of the enemy's guns. From the Third's position, it was more dangerous for its wounded to leave the field than remain on the battle line, the broad, level plateau in rear almost making it suicidal to raise even as high as a stooping posture.

From the constant, steady, and uninterrupted roll of musketry far to the right, we knew Jackson was engaged in a mighty struggle. From the early morning's opening the noise of his battle had been gradually bearing to the rear. He was being driven from position to position, and was meeting with defeat and possibly disaster. From the direction of his fire our situation was anything but assuring.

General Meade, of the Federal Army, had made the first morning attack upon the Light Brigade, under A.P. Hill, throwing that column in confusion and driving it back upon the second line. These troops were not expecting the advance, and some had their guns stacked. The heavy fog obscured the Federal lines until they were almost within pistol shot. When it was discovered that an enemy was in their front (in fact some thought them their friends), in this confusion of troops a retreat was ordered to the second line. In this surprise and disorder South Carolina lost one of her most gifted sons, and the South a brave and accomplished officer, Brigadier General Maxey Gregg.

General Hood, on Hill's left, failing to move in time to give him the support expected, the whole of Jackson's Corps was forced to retire. But the tide at length begins to turn. Meade is driven from the field. Division after division was rushed to the front to meet and check Jackson's steady advance. Cannon now boom as never before heard, even the clear ringing of Pelham's little howitzers, of Stuart's Cavalry, could be heard above the thunder of the big guns, telling us that Stuart was putting his horse artillery in the balance. His brave artillery leader was raking the enemy's flank as they fell back on the river. In our front new troops were being marshalled and put in readiness to swell the human holocaust before the fatal wall.

Franklin, Hancock, and Howard had made unsuccessful attempts upon this position, leaving their wounded and dead lying in heaps and wind rows from the old railroad cut to the suburbs. Now Sturgis, of the Ninth Corps, was steadily advancing. The Washington Artillery, from New Orleans, occupying the most conspicuous and favorable position on the right of the "Mayree House," had exhausted their shot and shell. The infantry in the road and behind the wall, Cobb's and part of Kershaw's, were nearly out of ammunition, and during the last charge had been using that of their dead and wounded. Calls were made on all sides for "more ammunition," both from the artillery and infantry. Orders and details had been sent to the ordnance trains to bring supplies to the front. But the orders had miscarried, or the trains were too far distant, for up to three o'clock no sign of replenishment was in sight. The hearts of the exhausted men began to fail them—the batteries silent, the infantry short of ammunition, while a long line of blue was making rapid strides towards us in front.

But now all hearts were made glad by the sudden rush of Alexander's Battery coming to the relief of the Washington Artillery. Down the Telegraph Road the battery came, their horses rearing and plunging, drivers burying the points of their spurs deep into the flanks of the foaming steeds; riders in front bending low upon the saddle bows to escape the shells that now filled the air, or plowing up the earth beneath the horses hoofs; the men on the caissons clinging with a death-like grip to retain their seats, the great heavy wheels spinning around like mad and bounding high in the air; while the officers riding at the side of this charging column of artillerists, shouted at the top of their voices, giving directions to the leaders. Down this open and exposed stretch of road, up over the plateau, then wheel to the right, they make a rush through the gauntlet that separates them from the fort in which stood the Washington Artillery. Over the dead and dying the horses leap and plunge, dragging the cannon and ammunition chests—they enter the fort at a gallop. Swinging into line, their brass pieces are now belching forth grape and canister into the ranks of the advancing columns. All this takes place in less time than it takes to record it. The bold dash and beautiful piece of evolution so excite the admiration of all who witnessed it, that a yell went up that drowns for a time the heavy baying of the siege guns on Stafford Heights.

About this time Jackson seems to have reached his limit of retreat, and was now forging steadily to the front, regaining every inch of the lost ground of the morning. The Federal Commander-in-Chief, seeing the stubborn resistance he is met with in front of the city, and Jackson's gray lines pressing his left back upon the river, began to feel the hopelessness of his battle, and sent orders to Franklin to attack Jackson with his entire force. Hooker was to reinforce Sumner on the right, the latter to take the stone wall and the heights beyond before night. Sturgis had met the fate of those who had assaulted before him. Now Getty and Griffin were making frantic efforts to reach the wall. Griffin had his men concealed and protected in the wet, marshy bed of the old canal. He now undertook to accomplish that which Howard had attempted in the morning, and failed—the feat of taking the stone walls with empty guns.

In this column of assault was the famous Meager's Irish Brigade, of New York,—all Irishmen, but undoubtedly the finest body of troops in the Federal Army. When the signal for advance was given, from out of their hiding places they sprang—from the canal, the bushes on the river bank, the side streets in the city, one compact row of glittering bayonets came—in long battle lines. General Kershaw, seeing the preparation made for this final and overwhelming assault upon our jaded troops, sent Captain Doby, of his staff, along our lines with orders to hold our position at all hazards, even at the point of the bayonet.

As the rifle balls from the housetops and shells from the batteries along the river banks sang their peculiar death notes overhead and around us, this brave and fearless officer made the entire length of the line, exhorting, entreating, and urging the men to redoubled efforts. How Captain Doby escaped death is little less than miraculous.

The casualties of battle among the officers and the doubling up process of the men behind the wall caused all order of organization to be lost sight of, and each man loaded and fired as he saw best. The men in the road, even the wounded, crowded out from the wall by force of number, loaded the guns for the more fortunate who had places, and in many instances three and four men loaded the guns for one, passing them to those who were firing from the top of the stone fence. Each seemed to fight on his own responsibility, and with the same determined spirit to hold the wall and the heights above. Each felt as if the safety of the army depended upon his exertions alone.

With a firm and elastic step this long, swaying line of Irishmen moved to the assault with as much indifference apparently to their fate as "sheep going to the shambles." Not a shot was fired from this advancing column, while the shells from our batteries cut swath after swath through their ranks, only to be closed again as if by some mechanical means; colors fall, but rise and float again, men bounding forward and eagerly grasping the fallen staff, indifferent of the fate that awaited them. Officers are in front, with drawn swords flashing in the gleam of the fading sunlight, urging on their men to still greater deeds of prowess, and by their individual courage set examples in heroism never before witnessed on this continent. The assault upon Mayree's Hill by the Irish Brigade and their compatriots will go down in history as only equalled by the famous ride of the "Six Hundred at Hohenlinden," and the "Charge of the Light Brigade at Balaclava." They forge their way forward over the heap of dead and dying that now strew the plain, nearer to the deadly wall than any of the troops before them. It began to look for the moment as if their undaunted courage would succeed, but the courage of the defenders of Mayree's Hill seemed to increase in ardour and determination in proportion to that of the enemy. The smoke and flame of their battle is now less than one hundred paces from the wall, but the odds are against them, and they, too, had to finally yield to the inevitable and leave the field in great disorder.

From both sides hopes and prayers had gone up that this charge would prove the last attempt to break our lines. But Humphries met the shattered columns with a fresh advance. Those who were marching to enter this maelstrom of carnage were entreated and prayed to by all of those who had just returned from the sickening scene not to enter this death trap, and begged them not to throw away their lives in the vain attempt to accomplish the impossible. But Humphries, anxious of glory for himself and men, urged on by the imperative orders from his Commander-in-Chief, soon had his men on the march to the "bloody wall." But as the sun dropped behind the hills in our rear, the scene that presented itself in the fading gloom of that December day was a plain filled with the dead and dying—a living stream of flying fugitives seeking shelter from the storm of shot and shell by plunging over the precipitous banks of the river, or along the streets and protecting walls of the city buildings.

Jackson had pressed all in his front back to the water's edge, while his batteries, with those of Stuart's, were still throwing shells into the huddled, panic-stricken, and now thoroughly vanquished army of the enemy.

That night the Federal Commander-in-Chief sat in his tent alone, and around him the groans of the wounded and the agonizing wails of the dying greet his ear—the gentle wind singing a requiem to his dead. He nursed alone the bitter consciousness of the total defeat of his army, now a scattered mass—a skeleton of its former greatness—while the flower of the Northern chivalry lie sleeping the sleep of death on the hills and plains round about. His country and posterity would charge him with all the responsibility of defeat, and he felt that his brief command of the once grand and mighty Army of the Potomac was now at an end. Sore and bitter recollections!

Burnsides had on the field one hundred and thirty-two thousand and seventeen men; of these one hundred and sixteen thousand six hundred and eighty-three were in line of battle. Lee had upon the field and ready for action sixty-nine thousand three hundred and ninety-one infantry and artillery, and about five thousand cavalry. Burnsides had three hundred and seventy pieces of field artillery and forty siege guns mounted on Stafford's Heights. Lee had three hundred and twelve pieces of field and heavy artillery, with two siege guns, both exploding, one in the early part of the day.

The enemy's loss was twelve thousand six hundred and fifty-three, of which at least eight thousand fell in front of the stone wall. It has been computed by returns made since that in the seven different charges there were engaged at least twenty-five thousand infantry alone in the assaults against the stone wall, defended by not more than four thousand men, exclusive of artillery. Lee's entire loss was five thousand three hundred and twenty-two killed, wounded, and missing; and one of the strangest features of this great battle, one in which so many men of all arms were engaged, the enormous loss of life on both sides, and the close proximity of such a large body of cavalry, the returns of the battle only give thirteen wounded and none killed of the entire cavalry force on the Confederate side.

The men who held the stone wall and Mayree's Hill were three regiments of Cooke's North Carolina Brigade; the Sixteenth Georgia, Colonel Bryan; the Eighteenth Georgia, Lieutenant Colonel Ruff; the Twenty-fourth Georgia, Colonel McMillan; the Cobb Legion and Philip Legion, Colonel Cook, of General T.R.R. Cobb's Brigade; the Second South Carolina, Colonel Kennedy; the Third South Carolina, Colonel Nance, Lieutenant Colonel Rutherford, Major Maffett, Captains Summer, Hance, Foster, and Nance; the Seventh South Carolina, Lieutenant Colonel Bland; the Eighth South Carolina, Colonel Henagan and Major Stackhouse; the Fifteenth South Carolina, Colonel DeSaussure; the Third Battalion, Major Rice, of Kershaw's Brigade; the Washington Battery, of New Orleans, and Alexander's Battery, from Virginia. The brigades from Hood's and Pickett's Divisions, Jenkins, of South Carolina, being from the latter, were sent to the support of McLaws, at Mayree's Hill, and only acted as reserve and not engaged.

The next day, as if by mutual consent, was a day of rest. The wounded were gathered in as far as we were able to reach them. The enemy's wounded lay within one hundred yards of the stone wall for two days and nights, and their piteous calls for help and water were simply heart-rending. Whenever one of our soldiers attempted to relieve the enemy lying close under our wall, he would be fired upon by the pickets and guards in the house tops.

On the night of the 15th, the Federal Army, like strolling Arabs, "folded their tents and silently stole away." The 16th was given up entirely to the burial of the dead. In the long line of pits, dug as protection for the enemy while preparing for a charge, these putrefying bodies were thrown headlong, pell mell, like the filling of blind ditches with timbers. One Confederate would get between the legs of the dead enemy, take a foot in either hand, then two others would each grasp an arm, and drag at a run the remains of the dead enemy and heave it over in the pit. In this way these pits or ditches were filled almost to a level of the surface, a little dirt thrown over them, there to remain until the great United States Government removed them to the beautiful park around Mayree's Heights. There to this day, and perhaps for all time, sleep the "blue and the gray," while the flag so disastrously beaten on that day now floats in triumph over all.

It must be said to the credit of General Burnsides, that the responsibility for this disastrous battle should not rest upon his shoulders. He felt his incapacity for handling so great a body of troops. Again and again he wrote the authorities in Washington protesting against the command being given him. "I am unable to handle so great an army." He wrote his chief, but in vain. The fiat had gone forth, "Go and crush Lee," and the result was to have been expected.

* * * * *

CHAPTER XIV

Incidents of the Battle—Comparisons With Other Engagements.

The Battle of Fredericksburg was not the most desperate nor bloody of the war, nor was it so fruitful of events as others in its bearing on future results. Really neither side gained nor lost any great advantage; nor was the battle any more to the Confederate side than a great victory barren of ulterior results; the loss to the Federals no more than the loss of a number of men and the lowering of the morale among the troops. Within a day or two both armies occupied the same positions as before the battle. Not wishing to attempt any invidious comparisons or reflections upon troops in wars of other periods, but for the information of those who are not conversant with the magnitude of the Civil War, as compared with the Revolution and Mexican War, I will here give a few statistics. The reader then can draw his own conclusions as to the sanguinary effects and extent of some of our battles. Of course the different kinds of weapons used in the late war—their deadly effect, long range, better mode of firing—will have to be considered in comparison to the old.

As the Revolutionary War was more of a guerilla than actual war, I will speak more directly of the Mexican War. It will be noticed the difference in the killed to the wounded was far out of proportion in favor of the latter. This I attribute to the smallness of the gun's calibre, and in many instances buck-shot were used in connection with larger balls by the soldiers of the old wars, while the Mexicans used swords and lances, as well as pistols. During the three days' battle at Molino del Rey, Chapultepec, and the storming of the City of Mexico, considered the most bloody and sanguinary of that war, the four divisions of Scott's Army, of two thousand each, lost as follows: Pillow lost one officer killed and fourteen wounded, twenty-one privates killed and ninety-seven wounded. Worth lost two officers killed and nine wounded, twenty-three privates killed and ninety-five wounded. Quitman lost four officers killed and thirty wounded, thirty-seven privates killed and two hundred and thirty-seven wounded. Smith's Brigade, with Quitman, lost ten officers wounded and none killed, twenty-four privates killed and one hundred and twenty-six wounded. Twigg's Division lost three officers killed and twelve wounded, fifteen privates killed and seventy-seven wounded. This, with some few missing, making a grand total loss, out of Scott's Army of nine to ten thousand men, of between six hundred and fifty and seven hundred killed, wounded, and missing—a number that Kershaw's Brigade alone frequently lost in three or four hours.

The heaviest casualties in the three days' battle of Mexico in regiments were in the Palmetto Regiment and the Kentucky Rifles, where the former lost two officers killed and nine wounded, fourteen privates killed and seventy-five wounded; the latter lost six officers wounded and none killed, nine privates killed and sixty-four wounded. When it is remembered that the Third Regiment in the battle with about three hundred and fifty and four hundred men in line lost six regimental commanders killed and wounded, not less than three times that number of other officers killed and wounded, and more than one hundred and fifty men killed and wounded, some idea can be had of its bloody crisis and deadly struggle, in which our troops were engaged, in comparison to the patriots in Mexico.

But considering the close proximity of the troops engaged at Fredericksburg, the narrow compass in which they were massed, the number of elevated positions suitable for artillery on either side, and the number of troops on the field, the wonder is why the casualties were not even greater than the reports make them. Burnsides, from the nature of the ground, could not handle more than half his army, as by official returns not more than fifty thousand were in line of battle and in actual combat. There were only two points at which he could extend his line, and if at one he found a "Scylla," he was equally sure to find a "Charybdis" at the other. On his left flank Jackson's whole corps was massed, at Hamilton's Crossing; at his right was the stone wall and Mayree's Hill. To meet Hood and Pickett he would have had to advance between a quarter and half mile through a plain, where his army could be enfiladed by the guns of Longstreet and Jackson, and in front by the batteries of Hood and Pickett. It seems from reports since come to light that the authorities at Washington apprehended more danger in Burnsides crossing the river than in the battle that was to follow. Lincoln in giving him orders as to his movements instructed his Secretary of War, Stanton, to write Burnsides to be very careful in the crossing, to guard his flanks well, and not allow Lee to fall upon one part that had crossed and crush it before the other part could come to the rescue; nor allow that wing of the army yet remaining on the Northern side to be attacked and destroyed while the other had crossed to the Southern side. It is said Stanton wrote the order couched in the best of English, and phrased in elegant terms the instructions above, telling him to guard his flanks, etc., then read the order to Lincoln for his approval. Taking up the pen, the President endorsed it, and wrote underneath, in his own hand: "In crossing the river don't allow yourself to be caught in the fix of a cow, hurried by dogs, in jumping a fence, get hung in the middle, so that she can't either use her horns in front, nor her heels behind."

Many incidents of courage and pathos could be written of this, as well as many other battles, but one that I think the crowning act of courage and sympathy for an enemy in distress is due was that of a Georgian behind the wall. In one of the first charges made during the day a Federal had fallen, and to protect himself as much as possible from the bullets of his enemies, he had by sheer force of will pulled his body along until he had neared the wall. Then he failed through pure exhaustion. From loss of blood and the exposure of the sun's rays, he called loudly for water. "Oh, somebody bring me a drink of water!—water! water!!" was the piteous appeals heard by those behind the stone wall. To go to his rescue was to court certain death, as the housetops to the left were lined with sharpshooters, ready to fire upon anyone showing his head above the wall. But one brave soldier from Georgia dared all, and during the lull in the firing leaped the walls, rushed to the wounded soldier, and raising his head in his arms, gave him a drink of water, then made his way back and over the wall amid a hail of bullets knocking the dirt up all around him.

The soldier, like the sailor, is proverbial for his superstition. But at times certain incidents or coincidents take place in the life of the soldier that are inexplainable, to say the least. Now it is certain that every soldier going into battle has some dread of death. It is the nature of man to dread that long lost sleep at any time and in any place. He knows that death is a master of all, and all must yield to its inexorable summons, and that summons is more likely to come in battle than on ordinary occasions. That at certain times soldiers do have a premonition of their coming death, has been proven on many occasions. Not that I say all soldiers foretell their end by some kind of secret monitor, but that some do, or seem to do so. Captain Summer, of my company, was an unusually good-humored and lively man, and while he was not what could be called profane, yet he had little predilection toward piety or the Church. In other battles he advanced to the front as light-hearted and free from care as if going on drill or inspection. When we were drawn up in line of battle at Fredericksburg the first morning an order came for the Captain. He was not present, and on enquiry, I was told that he had gone to a cluster of bushes in the rear. Thinking the order might be of importance, I hastened to the place, and there I found Captain Summer on his knees in prayer. I rallied him about his "sudden piety," and in a jesting manner accused him of "weakening." "After rising from his kneeling posture, I saw he was calm, pale, and serious—so different from his former moods in going into battle. I began teasing him in a bantering way about being a coward." "No," said he, "I am no coward, and will show I have as much nerve, if not more, than most men in the army, for all have doubts of death, but I have none. I will be killed in this battle. I feel it as plainly as I feel I am living, but I am no coward, and shall go in this battle and fight with the same spirit that I have always shown." This was true. He acted bravely, and for the few moments that he commanded the regiment he exhibited all the daring a brave man could, but he fell shot through the brains with a minnie ball. He had given me messages to his young wife, to whom he had been married only about two months, before entering the services, as to the disposition of his effects, as well as his body after death.

Another instance was that of Lieutenant Hill, of Company G, Third South Carolina Regiment. The day before the battle he asked permission to return to camp that night, a distance perhaps of three miles. With a companion he returned to the camp, procured water, bathed himself, and changed his under-clothing. On being asked by his companion why he wished to walk three miles at night to simply bathe and change his clothing, with perfect unconcern he replied: "In the coming battle I feel that I will be killed, and such being the case, I could not bear the idea of dying and being buried in soiled clothes." He fell dead at the first volley. Was there ever such courage as this—to feel that death was so certain and that it could be prevented by absenting themselves from battle, but allowed their pride, patriotism, and moral courage to carry them on to sure death?

In the case of a private in Company C, Third Regiment, it was different. He did not have the moral courage to resist the "secret monitor," that silent whisperer of death. He had always asserted that he would be killed in the first battle, and so strong was this conviction upon him, that he failed to keep in line of battle on another occasion, and had been censured by his officers for cowardice. In this battle he was ordered in charge of a Sergeant, with instructions that he be carried in battle at the point of the bayonet. However, it required no force to make him keep his place in line, still he continued true to his convictions, that his death was certain. He went willingly, if not cheerfully, in line. As the column was moving to take position on Mayree's Hill, he gave instructions to his companions as he advanced what messages should be sent to his wife, and while giving those instructions and before the command reached its position he fell pierced through the heart.

Another instance that came under my own observation, that which some chose to call "presentiment," was of a member in my company in East Tennessee. He was an exceptionally good soldier and the very picture of an ideal hero, tall, erect, and physically well developed, over six feet in height, and always stood in the front rank at the head of the company. While Longstreet was moving upon Knoxville, the morning he crossed the Tennessee River before dawn and before there was any indication of a battle, this man said to me, with as much coolness and composure, as if on an ordinary subject, without a falter in his tone or any emotion whatever: "Captain, I will be killed to-day. I have, some money in my pocket which I want you to take and also to draw my four months' wages now due, and send by some trusty man to my wife. Tell her also—" but here I stopped him, told him it was childish to entertain such nonsense, to be a man as his conduct had so often in the past shown him to be. I joked and laughed at him, and in a good-natured way told him the East Tennessee climate gave him that disease known among soldiers as "crawfishing." This I did to withdraw his mind from this gloomy brooding. We had no real battle, but a continual skirmish with the enemy, with stray shots throughout the day. As we were moving along in line of battle, I heard that peculiar buzzing noise of a bullet, as if in ricochet, coming in our direction, but high in the air. As it neared the column it seemed to lower and come with a more hissing sound. It struck the man square in the breast, then reeling out of ranks he made a few strides towards where I was marching, his pocket-book in hand, and fell dead at my feet without a word or groan. He was the only man killed during the day in the brigade, and not even then on the firing line. Of course all will say these are only "coincidences," but be what they may, I give them as facts coming under my own eyes, and facts of the same nature came to the knowledge of hundreds and thousands of soldiers during every campaign, which none endeavor to explain, other than the facts themselves. But as the soldier is nothing more than a small fraction of the whole of a great machine, so much happens that he cannot fathom nor explain, that it naturally makes a great number of soldiers, like the sailor, somewhat superstitious. But when we speak of moral courage, where is there a courage more sublime than the soldier marching, as he thinks, to his certain death, while all his comrades are taking their chances at the hazard of war?

There are many unaccountable incidents and coincidents in a soldier's experience. Then, again, how differently men enter battle and how differently they act when wounded. Some men, on the eve of battle, the most trying time in a soldier's life, will stand calm and impassive, awaiting the command, "forward," while his next neighbor will tremble and shake, as with a great chill, praying, meditating, and almost in despair, awaiting the orders to advance. Then when in the heat of the conflict both men seem metamorphosed. The former, almost frightened out of his wits, loses his head and is just as apt to fire backwards as forwards; while the latter seems to have lost all fear, reckless of his life, and fights like a hero. I have known men who at home were perfect cowards, whom a schoolboy could run away with a walking cane, become fearless and brave as lions in battle; while on the other hand men who were called "game cocks" at home and great "crossroads bullies," were abject cowards in battle. As to being wounded, some men will look on a mortal wound, feel his life ebbing away, perfectly calm and without concern, and give his dying messages with the composure of an every day occurrence; while others, if the tip of the finger is touched, or his shin-bone grazed, will "yell like a hyena or holler like a loon," and raise such a rumpus as to alarm the whole army. I saw a man running out of battle once (an officer) at such a gait as only fright could give, and when I asked him if he was wounded, he replied, "Yes, my leg is broken in two places," when, as a matter of fact, he had only a slight flesh wound. These incidents the reader may think merely fiction, but they are real facts. A man in Company E, Third South Carolina Regiment, having a minnie ball lodged between the two bones of his arm, made such a racket when the surgeons undertook to push it out, that they had to turn him loose; while a private in Company G, of the same regiment, being shot in the chest, when the surgeon was probing for the ball with his finger, looked on with unconcern, only remarking, "Make the hole a little larger, doctor, and put your whole hand in it." In a few days he was dead. I could give the names of all these parties, but for obvious reasons omit them. I merely single out these cases to show how differently men's nervous systems are constructed. And I might add, too, an instance of a member of my company at the third day of the battle of Gettysburg. Lying under the heavy cannonading while Pickett was making his famous charge, and most of the men asleep, this man had his foot in the fork of a little bush, to better rest himself. In this position a shot struck him above the ankle; he looked at the wound a moment, then said: "Boys, I'll be —— if that ain't a thirty days' furlough." Next day his foot had to be amputated, and to this day he wears a cork. Such is the difference in soldiers, and you cannot judge them by outward appearance.

I here insert a few paragraphs from the pen of Adjutant Y.J. Pope, of the Third, to show that there was mirth in the camps, notwithstanding the cold and hardships:

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PLAYING "ANTHONY OVER" AT HEADQUARTERS ON THE SEVENTH OF DECEMBER, 1862.

There was one thing that always attracted my attention during the war and that was the warm fellowship which existed amongst the soldiers. If a man got a trunk or box laden with good things from home, there was no selfishness about it; the comrades were expected and did share in the feast. While out on picket on the banks of the Rappahannock River, when we were told that another regiment had come to relieve ours, at the same time we were told that Colonel Rutherford had come back to us; he had been absent since September, and we were all very anxious to see him, for he was a charming fellow—whole-souled, witty, and always an addition to any party. We knew, too, that he would bring something good to eat from home. My feathers fell, though, when Colonel Nance said to me, "Go yourself and see that every company is relieved from picket duty, and bring them to the regiment." I knew what this meant. It was at night, the ground was covered with snow, and the companies would take a long time to march back to camp. A soldier is made to obey orders, whether pleasant or unpleasant, so I rode at the head of the battalion; I was chilled through; my ears felt—well I rubbed a little feeling into them. At last we reached camp. Before I did so I could hear the merry laughter of the group about our regimental headquarter fire. Rutherford greeted me with the utmost cordiality, and had my supper served, having had the servants to keep it hot. But I could not forget my having to ride three miles at the head of the four companies, and how cold I had got in doing so. Therefore, I was in a bad humor, and refusing to join the merry group around the fire, went to bed at once. About twelve o'clock that night I heard the voices in the game of "Anthony over," and was obliged to laugh. Of course the merry cup had circulated. We lived in a Sibley tent that had a cap to fit over the top. And that night, as it was very cold, it had been determined to put the cap on the tent. So the merry-makers formed themselves into two groups, and pitched the cap to the top, and when it failed to lodge the other side would try its hand. One side would call out, "Anthony," to which call the other party would reply, "over." Then the first crowd would sing out, "Here she comes," throwing the cap with the uttering of those words. The peals of laughter from both sides, when the effort to lodge the cap would fail and the teasing of each side, made me laugh whether I wished to do so or not. After awhile it lodged alright, then "good-nights" were exchanged, and then to bed.

I need not add that on the next day all was good humor at headquarters, and in six days afterwards Colonel Nance, Colonel Rutherford, and Major Maffett were all painfully wounded in battle.

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IN DECEMBER, 1862.

While Longstreet's troops occupied the City of Fredericksburg in the winter of 1862, I had learned that at night one of the quartermasters of McLaws' Division was in the habit of going across to an island in the Rappahannock River, just above the city, to obtain hay and corn, and to come down to the main incentive, that there was a very charming old Virginia family who lived there, and that a bright-eyed daughter was of that family. I set about getting a sight of this "Island enchantress," and at last Captain Franks, who was Quartermaster of the Seventeenth Regiment of Barksdale's Brigade, agreed to take me with him one night. Here I was, the Adjutant of a Regiment, going over to an island without leave, with the enemy in strong force just across the river, and therefore liable to be captured. Nevertheless, the hope of a peep at bright eyes has got many a man into dangerous ventures, and my case was not different from the rest. So I went. I saw the fair maid. She was not only beautiful, but very interesting. After it was all over prudence whispered to me not to tempt my fate again—especially as a fair lady in another State would have had a right to except to such conduct on my part. I never regretted my visit to the island, though!

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AN ACT OF HEROIC FIDELITY OF A NEGRO SLAVE IN THE WAR.

In looking back at the incidents of the War Between the States, it is with great pleasure that an incident highly honorable to the African slave race is recalled.

It was on the 13th of December, 1862, when the Third South Carolina Regiment of Infantry was ordered from the position at the foot of Lee's Hill, at Fredericksburg, Va., to Mayree's House, near but to the right of the sunken road protected by the rock fence, that in going down the Telegraph Road the regiment was for a time exposed to the fire of the Federal batteries on the Stafford Heights. A shell from those batteries was so accurately directed that it burst near by Company C, of that regiment, and one of the results was that Lieutenant James Spencer Piester, of that company, was instantly killed. His body lay in that road and his faithful body servant, Simpson Piester, went to the body of his master and tenderly taking it into his arms, bore it to the rear, so that it might be sent to his relatives in Newberry, South Carolina. Anyone who had occasion to go upon the Telegraph Road in that day must appreciate the courage and fidelity involved in the act performed by Simpson Piester.

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CHAPTER XV

Reminiscences.

After the smoke of the great battle had cleared away and the enemy settled permanently in their old quarters north of the Rappahannock, Lee moved his army some miles south of Fredericksburg, on the wooded highlands, and prepared for winter quarters. This was not a very laborious undertaking, nor of long duration, for all that was necessary was to pitch our old wornout, slanting-roof tents, occupied by six or eight men each. The troops had become too well acquainted with the uncertainty of their duration in camp to go into any very laborious or elaborate preparations. Kershaw had a very desirable location among the wooded hills, but this was soon denuded of every vestige of fuel of every kind, for it must be understood the army had no wagons or teams to haul their fire wood, but each had to carry his share of the wood required for the daily use, and often a mile or mile and a half distant. At the close of the year the Eastern Army found itself in quite easy circumstances and well pleased with the year's campaign, but the fruits of our victory were more in brilliant achievements than material results.

In the Western Army it was not so successful. On the first of the year General Albert Sidney Johnston had his army at Bowling Green, Ky. But disaster after disaster befell him, until two states were lost to the Confederacy, as well as that great commander himself, who fell at the moment of victory on the fatal field of Shiloh. Commencing with the fall of Fort Henry on the Tennessee, then Fort Donaldson on the Cumberland, which necessitated the evacuation of the lines of defense at Bowling Green, and the withdrawal of the army from Kentucky. At Pittsburg Landing Grant was overwhelmingly defeated by the army under Beauregard, but by the division of the army under the two Confederate leaders, and the overpowering numbers of the enemy under some of the greatest Generals in the Union Army, Beauregard was forced to withdraw to Shiloh. Here the two combined armies of Beauregard and Johnston attacked the Union Army under Grant, Sherman, Buell, Lew Wallace, and other military geniuses, with over one hundred and sixteen thousand men, as against an army of forty-eight thousand Confederates. After one of the most stubborn, as well as bloodiest battles of the war, the Confederates gained a complete victory on the first day, but through a combined train of circumstances, they were forced to withdraw the second. After other battles, with varied results, the end of the year found the Western Army in Northern Mississippi and Southern Tennessee.

The Eastern Army, on the other hand, had hurled the enemy from the very gates of the Capital of the Confederacy, after seven days fighting, doubling it up in an indefinable mass, and had driven it northward in haste; on the plains of Manassas it was overtaken, beaten, and almost annihilated, only failing in a repetition of the same, ending as the first battle of that name and place; by the same causes, viz., Sykes' Regulars, the enemy pushed across the Potomac, putting the Capitol, as well as the whole North, in a perfect state of panic; the Confederates entered the enemy's own country, capturing one of their strongholds, with eleven thousand prisoners and munitions of war, enough to equip an army; fought one of the most sanguinary battles of modern times almost within sight of the Capitol itself, if not to a successful finish to a very creditable draw; returned South, unmolested, with its prisoners and untold booty; fought the great battle of Fredericksburg, with the results just enumerated. Could Napoleon, Frederick the Great, or the "Madman of the North" have done better with the forces at hand and against an enemy with odds of two and three to one? So Lee's Army had nothing of which to complain, only the loss of so many great and chivalrous comrades.

We had little picketing to do, once perhaps a month, then in the deserted houses of Fredericksburg. Guard duty around camp was abolished for the winter; so was drilling, only on nice, warm days; the latter, however, was rarely seen during that season. The troops abandoned themselves to base ball, snow fights, writing letters, and receiving as guests in their camps friends and relatives, who never failed to bring with them great boxes of the good things from home, as well as clothing and shoes for the needy soldiers. Furloughs were granted in limited numbers. Recruits and now the thoroughly healed of the wounded from the many engagements flocked to our ranks, making all put on a cheerful face.

That winter in Virginia was one of the most severe known in many years, but the soldiers had become accustomed to the cold of the North, and rather liked it than otherwise, especially when snow fell to the depth of twelve to sixteen inches, and remained for two or three weeks. So the reader can see that the soldier's life has its sunny side, as well as its dark. The troops delight in "snow balling," and revelled in the sport for days at a time. Many hard battles were fought, won, and lost; sometimes company against company, then regiment against regiment, and sometimes brigades would be pitted against rival brigades. When the South Carolinians were against the Georgians, or the two Georgia brigades against Kershaw's and the Mississippi brigades, then the blows would fall fast and furious. The fiercest fight and the hardest run of my life was when Kershaw's Brigade, under Colonel Rutherford, of the Third, challenged and fought Cobb's Georgians. Colonel Rutherford was a great lover of the sport, and wherever a contest was going on he would be sure to take a hand. On the day alluded to Colonel Rutherford martialed his men by the beating of drums and the bugle's blast; officers headed their companies, regiments formed, with flags flying, then when all was ready the troops were marched to the brow of a hill, or rather half way down the hill, and formed line of battle, there to await the coming of the Georgians. They were at that moment advancing across the plain that separated the two camps. The men built great pyramids of snow balls in their rear, and awaited the assault of the fast approaching enemy. Officers cheered the men and urged them to stand fast and uphold the "honor of their State," while the officers on the other side besought their men to sweep all before them off the field.

The men stood trembling with cold and emotion, and the officers with fear, for the officer who was luckless enough as to fall into the hands of a set of "snow revelers," found to his sorrow that his bed was not one of roses. When the Georgians were within one hundred feet the order was given to "fire." Then shower after shower of the fleecy balls filled the air. Cheer after cheer went up from the assaulters and the assaultant—now pressed back by the flying balls, then to the assault again. Officers shouted to the men, and they answered with a "yell." When some, more bold than the rest, ventured too near, he was caught and dragged through the lines, while his comrades made frantic efforts to rescue him. The poor prisoner, now safely behind the lines, his fate problematical, as down in the snow he was pulled, now on his face, next on his back, then swung round and round by his heels—all the while snow being pushed down his back or in his bosom, his eyes, ears, and hair thoroughly filled with the "beautiful snow." After a fifteen minutes' struggle, our lines gave way. The fierce looks of a tall, muscular, wild-eyed Georgian, who stood directly in my front, seemed to have singled me out for sacrifice. The stampede began. I tried to lead the command in the rout by placing myself in the front of the boldest and stoutest squad in the ranks, all the while shouting to the men to "turn boys turn." But they continued to charge to the rear, and in the nearest cut to our camp, then a mile off, I saw the only chance to save myself from the clutches of that wild-eyed Georgian was in continual and rapid flight. The idea of a boy seventeen years old, and never yet tipped the beam at one hundred, in the grasp of that monster, as he now began to look to me, gave me the horrors. One by one the men began to pass me, and while the distance between us and the camp grew less at each step, yet the distance between me and my pursuer grew less as we proceeded in our mad race. The broad expanse that lay between the men and camp was one flying, surging mass, while the earth, or rather the snow, all around was filled with men who had fallen or been overtaken, and now in the last throes of a desperate snow battle. I dared not look behind, but kept bravely on. My breath grew fast and thick, and the camp seemed a perfect mirage, now near at hand then far in the distance. The men who had not yet fallen in the hands of the reckless Georgians had distanced me, and the only energy that kept me to the race was the hope that some mishap might befall the wild-eyed man in my rear, otherwise I was gone. No one would have the temerity to tackle the giant in his rage. But all things must come to an end, and my race ended by falling in my tent, more dead than alive, just as I felt the warm breath of my pursuer blowing on my neck. I heard, as I lay panting, the wild-eyed man say, "I would rather have caught that d——n little Captain than to have killed the biggest man in the Yankee Army."