Martial Deeds of Pennsylvania, Samuel P. Bates, 1876 - Part 3, Chapter 5, 1081-1111 Contributed for use in the USGenWeb Archives by Judy Banja jbanja@msn.com and transcribed by Judy Banja, Judith Bookwalter, Cyndie Enfinger, Linda Horn, Margaret Long, Patricia Martz, Barbara Milhalcik, Leah Waring and Marjorie B. Winter Copyright 2003. All rights reserved. http://www.usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://www.usgwarchives.net/pa/pafiles.htm ________________________________________________ MARTIAL DEEDS OF PENNSYLVANIA by SAMUEL P. BATES. PHILADELPHIA: T. H. DAVIS & CO., 1876. MARTIAL DEEDS OF PENNSLVANIA - 1081 PART III. CIVIL AND MISCELLANEOUS. CHAPTER V. INCIDENTS. ONE of the first thought which seizes the home population, when it is known that an enemy is approaching, is of hiding the valuables. Where to secrete becomes a serious study, and ingenuity is tasked to its utmost; for soldiers, after a little practice, acquire great skill in searching for hidden treasures. It is said that Sherman's bummers could smell the whereabouts of a watch, though it were hidden in a swamp five miles off. They had an uncontrollable propensity for running their bayonets into every ash-pile and heap of rubbish which they came upon, and the very barrel of meal which contained the treasures was sure to be overturned. Feather-beds were ripped open, fires were extinguished and the ashes hauled from the hearth, false bottoms of drawers, chairs, and trunks were unloosed, and the very pumps were unpacked and wells made to disclose their secrets. When the legions of Lee began to show themselves to the people of Gettysburg across the South Mountain, and their white tents to cover all the plains below, it became evident that the town would fall in the track of the invader, and the inevitable labor of secreting began. It chanced that an old man, who kept a plain farmer's inn had just laid in a heavy invoice of choice liquors. He knew that in the event of a great army occupying the town, or even passing through it, his stock would be sacrificed. Nor was it so much the loss of his liquors that he dreaded; for he realized that the effect of strong drink was to deprive men of reason and all self-control or decency, and he shuddered at the thought of a soldiery infuriated with the fiery demon. He was, accordingly, incited to use his best resources in devising some MARTIAL DEEDS OF PENNSYLVANIA - 1082 plan to put his store beyond their grasp. It was too late to reship it to Baltimore, and the only alternative was to dispose of it on the premises. After anxiously revolving many an ingenious scheme, he finally settled upon this: going to his garden as soon as the shadows of evening had fallen, he dug a deep long trench, into which he rolled his precious but dangerous treasures. He then covered the earth neatly over them, and smoothing it down in the most careful manner, proceeded to plant the newly stirred ground to cabbage plants, as if in hope of the profitable crop of this savory esculent. When all was done, and in the morning-light he regarded his night's work with complacency, he bethought himself of calling in one of his neighbors to admire his fine patch. The neighbor came, saw, and commended; but had no suspicion. This was regarded as a fortunate omen. But he must needs have some excuse for having no liquors. To this end he had saved out a few gallons of each of the poorer brands, and pouring these into several empty barrels rolled them into an obscure corner of his inner cellar, and piled his potatoes over them. Amidst the din and turmoil of that terrible day, when, ploughed by shot and shell, the First and eleventh corps were obliged to yield the ground which they had heroically held, and fall back rapidly through the town, the rebels came. They poured through all the streets, and levelling the fences, filled the enclosures. No house nor private apartment was secure from their intrusion. The inn and the cabbage patch were no exceptions. One of the first questions when they came upon the premises was: "Where is the liquor?" Looking very serious, the host answered that his stock was entirely exhausted. "That will do for the marines," exclaimed one, "but it's too thin for us. We have travelled." So saying he cocked his musket, and, levelling it at the old man's head, told him to show were the liquor was, or he would have no time to say his prayers. Regarding this a very careless way to handle fire-arms, and believing discretion the better part of valor, he led the way to the innermost cellar, and taking down INCIDENTS - 1083 the elaborately piled-up barricades, and removing great bars and bolts, commenced levelling the potatoes. The soldiers, eager for a sip, lent him a helping hand. Finally the barrels were reached and the moiety of the liquor brought to light. The foil was complete. No further search was made nor questions asked. Patiently during those hot July days, while the booming of cannon and the tramp of the armies resounded and shook the dwellings of the city, and the volumes of sulphurous smoke obscured the sun in the mid-day heavens, the old man toiled in cultivating his cabbage plants, hoeing the same ground again and again. The rebels were constantly passing, their line of battle running just in front of his premises, and were frequently in and out of his house; but they had no suspicion of his secret. Finally came that terrible cannonade on the afternoon of the third day, when the trembling fled to their cellars for safety, when the every earth quaked, and the stoutest held his breath, followed by the rush of armed thousands and the clash as of giants! Gradually the sound of battle died away, and as the shadows of evening began to lengthen, the timid stole forth from their hiding-places; when lo! a marked changed was apparent. The rebels, who before had been so boastful and jubilant, had suddenly become reticent, and their faces were lengthened like the shadows. The night passed and the morning came, and, oh! what a joyful morning! The rebels had departed, the soldiers of the Union with their star-lit banners were advancing, and the cabbage was no longer an object of cultivation! LATE on the after noon of the 27th of October, 1864, General Mulholland, then commanding a brigade, received the orders to storm a rebel fort in front of his line. One hundred men of the One Hundred and Forty-eighth Pennsylvania were selected for the storming party. Captain Henry D. Price, who was at the time Adjutant-General of the brigade, insisted on accompanying it. Drawing his sword he handed the scabbard to Lieutenant Lee, saying, "Tom! if I am killed send this home to my mother." When the order to charge was given, he leaped over the works and ran in front of the troops to the enemy's line, where he fell, shot through the head. Thus expired one of the bravest, most MARTIAL DEEDS OF PENNSYLVANIA - 1084 unassuming, gentle, beloved, and accomplished young officers in the army. He was a native of Chester county, where he was born on the 17th of August, 1843. THE victim of cruelty and starvation in the loathsome prisons of the south, by his suffering and fortitude borne in the common cause, challenges the admiration and gratitude, the honor and lasting commemoration of all his countrymen. The torments therein endured, and the agonies of the parting hour, will never be known until those patriot graves give up their secrets. As an illustration of this life the following narrative, prepared by Lieutenant Thomas F. Roberts, Company D, Fifth Pennsylvania cavalry, is here given. He was in command of his company at the battle of Stony Creek Station, in the Wilson and Kautz raid, on the 29th of June, 1864, and was taken prisoner with twenty-two of his men. They were immediately sent to Andersonville, where they remained about three months. We suffered here, he says, dreadfully from the hot sun, having no shelter excepting an old horse-blanket which the rebels did not think worth robbing us of. There must have been 30,000 in this prison, and the average deaths per day from starvation and neglect were at least fifty within the prison, and likely as many more in the hospitals outside. Our Sergeant-Major, John Griffith, died here, and I no not think there ever was a man who died in so much misery, as he was perfectly alive with vermin. Privates Granville Hoskins and Stacy Baxter also died miserably here. In September, to keep us out of the hands of Sherman, we were removed by rail to Charleston and placed in a pen upon the racecourse. Here we were treated better, as far as food was concerned, as ladies from the city brought us many things; but the ground was very low, so that when we got up in the morning we were wet and covered with mud. We remained here until the stockade at Florence was finished, which was early in November, when we were removed thither. The nights were now getting quite cold and damp on account of heavy fogs. By this time we were almost without clothing, and with not more than one blanket of any kind to six men. It was almost impossible to get a stick of wood, as those who had been first turned in had appro- INCIDENTS - 1085 priated all. Among men suffering as we were, the claims of friendship had little weight, and those who had fuel would see their destitute companions die rather than give up an article of such priceless value. Here Sergeant Joshua E. Dyer died. Poor fellow! Starvation and cold were too much for him, and later giving a message to his mother, he expired in a hole which we had dug into the earth, and covered with dirt. In this we had lived, and here he died, so changed with starvation and pine smoke that his mother would not have known him. Sergeant Bryan also died here after suffering over two months. I do not think he would have weighed more than seventy-five pounds, although he had been a large man. Privates Garrett, Lenney, Kelly Wood, and Moran expired after long suffering. In November there was a special exchange for those who were considered so near dead that they would be of no further use to our army as soldiers. None of my company were included in this exchange, although many of the regiment were. About this time I came near dying with the typhoid fever, having no one to give me so much as a drink of water until a young man, Charles Carpenter, became acquainted with me. To him I no doubt owe my life. At this time the average deaths per day were about fifty, as the fever was very fatal amongst us. In January the nights became severely cold, and hundreds of poor fellows had their toes frozen off, and you may imagine how they must have suffered, as they had not so much as a rag to put around them. This in many cases led to gangrene, which almost invariably ended in the loss of both legs, a result not favorable to further service, but entirely satisfactory to our keepers. About the middle of January the prisoners on the east side of the creek were moved across to the west, to bring the whole body more together. By this change hundreds, who had made themselves in a measure comfortable, were thrown out of shelter, when they suffered terribly, and died by thousands. In February we were removed to Wilmington, North Carolina, for exchange. But as General Terry had attacked the place, we were hurried on to Goldsboro, out of the way. We were transported on platform cars at night, with nothing to lie on, and no covering except it was a rag that had once been a horse-blanket. MARTIAL DEEDS OF PENNSYLVANIA - 1086 It is impossible to describe our sufferings on these cars, as seventy-five or eighty were forced on to each, rendering it wholly impossible to lie down, and almost certain death to stand up. Every time the train stopped to take wood or water, some half dozen frozen bodies were thrown off by the roadside, and it may seem past belief when I state that those bodies still remained where they had been thrown, three weeks afterward, when we returned to Wilmington. At Goldsboro we fared much better than at any previous place in the matter of a supply of food, as we had sufficient corned beef and crackers to satisfy hunger; but we suffered terribly from the inclement weather, as we lay in the woods without any shelter. On the night of the 28th of February we were crowded on the cars and started towards Wilmington, and although it rained steadily on us all day we were comparatively happy as we knew we were on the way to be exchanged. I can never forget my feelings when I first caught sight of our flag, as we drew near our lines after an imprisonment of nine months. I do not think a man can feel the joy I felt but once in a lifetime, as I heard myself counted an exchanged man, and walked between the United States and rebel officers who stood to receive us and pass us from slavery to freedom. This ended our prison life, but not our suffering, for we were crowed in our passage to Annapolis almost beyond endurance. So much reduced was I when I reached the hospital that I only weighed ninety-four pounds; but I thanked God for the deliverance and was happy. MARTIN L. SHOCK, Adjutant of the Fifty-first regiment, relates the following incident illustrative of coolness and fortitude while suffering from a most horrible wound: At Spottsylvania, on the 12th of May, 1864, the brigade to which I belonged while charging on the rebel works was defeated and driven, followed by a large force of the enemy, who in their turn were sent whirling back to their lines. After the battle I was ordered upon the field with a small squad in search of our wounded. Near the edge of the woods where the charge had been made, I found an old man, one of the enemy, sitting on the ground leaving against a tree and smoking a short clay-pipe. On examination I discovered that his entire left hip had been carried away by a grape shot. He seemed INCIDENTS - 1087 entirely unconcerned, puffing away at his pipe. As he saw that I was moving off, he asked me whether we could not take him to the hospital. I must confess I was out of humor on account of our defeat, and am sorry to say that I answered the poor old man gruffly that we had to take care of our own wounded first. He then requested me to get him a hat, as he was bareheaded and the sun was sending its slanting rays full in his face. I soon found a large-brimmed straw hat, belonging to a dead rebel Lieutenant, which I placed on his head. He thanked me and I left him to search for our own men. The last I saw of him he was still smoking. The next day I went to find the old man. He was sitting in the same position, the straw hat on his head, the pipe in his mouth-dead. Shock himself was afterwards severely wounded. He was making a charge with his regiment on the enemy's works at Cold Harbor early on the morning of the 3d of June, when he received a Minie ball in the left shoulder, cutting the shoulder-blade. Fortunately he had still the power of locomotion, and could leave the field; but for two years his wound was open. He had originally enlisted in the Fourth, and afterwards in the Fifty-first, with which he served in North Carolina, Virginia, Maryland, Kentucky, Mississippi, and Georgia, and in the campaign for the reduction of Richmond until he received his wound. A Private of the Sixty-ninth Pennsylvania regiment was on the picket line on the night of the 3d of July, 1863, at Gettysburg. His attention was attracted by the cries and piteous moans of a wounded rebel in his front. For some time he heard the calls and passed them in silence, well knowing that he could not leave his post without forfeiting his honor, and that the instant he advanced he might be fired on by the rebel pickets on his front. Filled with a soldier's generous sympathy he could not hear the groans unmoved. Finally his manhood got the better of his discretion as he exclaimed to his companion, "I cannot stand this," and taking a canteen of water, and a little cordial which he had in a vial, he determined to go to the assistance of the suffering man. Crawling stealthily along on the ground, he had advanced over a third of the distance when a flash in front MARTIAL DEEDS OF PENNSYLVANIA - 1088 told that he was discovered, and the next instant the hot blood was coursing down his body. Staunching the flow as best he could, he lay quietly for w while, and then began to move back and reached his post. He was found the following morning, cold in death, but still grasping his musket. THE most famous of the numerous batteries built upon and around Morris Island was the Swamp Angel, a name now historic. Between Morris and James Islands are about two miles of intervening swamp. Grown over with a tall coarse grass, furrowed and netted in all directions by the daily flow and recession of the tides, it is next to impenetrable, and the bed of mud, beneath, bottomless. From the centre of this swamp, with long-range guns, the streets of Charleston might be reached. No stretch of audacity was too great for Yankee ingenuity, and this was tried. Colonel Sorrell, of the New York Volunteer Engineers, gave the necessary orders to his Lieutenant. The latter, upon being shown the field of this new evangelism for spreading the gospel of the Union, declared the work impossible. The Colonel knew no such word, and told him to make his requisition for what he needed. It was promptly made upon the proper officer for "one hundred men, eighteen feet high, to wade in mud sixteen feet deep." He further requested his Surgeon "to splice the eighteen men as they were furnished." His humor cost the Lieutenant a temporary arrest. But the work was commenced and went bravely on. Night by night, floats bearing timber, sand-bags, and all manner of material, were carried out through the tide-filled channels or the mud, almost as fluid. The bottom was finally reached by the sinking mass of timber, brush, and sand-bags. The latter were filled nearly two miles distant. The whole work was executed under the eye of the gunners, and the range of rebel guns which swept it from a semi-circle round about. At length, rising above the tall marsh grass, it began to present a suspicious appearance, and the rebels opened on it with their mortars; but mortar shells were of no account to Morris Island troops. It was begun on the 4th and finished on the 19th of August. In due time the Angel lit upon its perch. It was in INCIDENTS - 1089 the form of a two-hundred-pounder Parrott, a species sui generis. To transport and mount this gun cost an amount of patience, muscle, and brain, that can with difficulty be appreciated. It was put in position at last, charged with a due portion of gospel, opened it mouth, and sent its message into the streets of Charleston, spanning a distance of 8800 yards. Standing, as the Angel did, down upon a level with the city, it could only carry a shot over, at the great and trying elevation of 36. A dozen or two of such shots finished its mission. It burst, jumped from its trunnions, leaped the parapet, and sank in the fathomless depths of Chaleston mud. The Greek Fire, which Beauregard reported to have been rained upon the city, was a myth. No successful use of it was ever made during the war. The battery was afterwards repaired, mounted with mortars, and used as a picket post. The sand-bags alone, employed in its construction, cost the Government $5000. Sergeant Felter, of the New York Volunteer Engineers, suggested the novel name which the battery bore. WHILE my regiment, says a Pennsylvania Colonel, was on picket duty at Hazel river, with Stuart's rebel cavalry on the opposite shore, one evening a man, who lived five miles in the rebel rear, came to the bank of the stream, and calling across inquired if we had a surgeon in camp. Being answered in the affirmative, he entreated that he be sent across, as his wife was mortally sick, and the surgeon of Stuart's command having gone to Richmond, there was not a doctor within twenty-five miles. Moved by the earnestness of his manner, and being assured that an escort would be furnished, I consented. When the surgeon arrived, he found a houseful of women, all curious to behold a Yankee doctor. The proper remedies were administered, and relief obtained; and as the surgeon was about to return, the husband, his heart overflowing with gratitude, asked how he could render a suitable reward for the great boon bestowed. "I ask," said the surgeon, "no pecuniary compensation. I am only too happy to have relieved the suffering; but there is one request which I have to make." "Present it," said the husband, "and it shall be joyfully accorded." "Name this fine boy Abraham Lincoln." MARTIAL DEEDS OF PENNSYLVANIA - 1090 Holding up his hands in horror, he exclaimed, "My God! I would willingly do it, but the rebels would kill the baby and me too!" Since the war he has called upon the doctor in the city, the most grateful of men. C.B. LOWER, a private in the Twenty-third Ohio regiment, having received a wound at Antietam, was sent to a hospital in New York, but, deserting, returned to his regiment and having served until April, 1863, when his wound proved troublesome, he was discharged. Not satisfied with home life, he enlisted in the Old Bucktail regiment and fought with it to the close of its service, receiving wounds at Mine Run and the Wilderness. On the very last day of its term, after fighting heroically, he was, towards evening, struck on the head by a flying brick hurled by a solid shot, and severely injured, falling into the enemy's hands. We were sent, he says, to Libby Prison, where we remained till June 9th, when we were moved to Andersonville; and now comes the most trying part of my military life. About twenty-five members of the Bucktails were captured with me, among them Sergeant Thompson, and while at Libby we had elected him Captain, and laid a plan for escaping from the cars while on the way to Andersonville. We were to overcome the guard, bind and gag them at a concerted signal and leap from the car. I had stationed myself near the door after leaving Burksville, just beside on of the guards, with courage screwed up and nerves strung, ready to do my part. Just after dark it was announced to me that the enterprise had for some reason been abandoned. I then made up my mind to escape alone. The weather was warm and the guard permitted the door of the car, a box, to stand open. His gun rested across it. I stood for more than an hour by his side just on the point of springing out, but still held back by the dread of what might be the result. I cannot describe my feelings at that time. I knew that in a moment I might be a mangled corpse, or I might be alive and free; or, what was more likely, I might be disabled from travelling, recaptured, and subjected to the punishment that I knew would follow. I took out my watch, which, through some unaccountable oversight on the INCIDENTS - 1091 part of the rebels, had not been taken from me, and in the darkness felt the hands, and found that it was eleven o'clock. I concluded that we must be about fifty miles beyond Burksville, and that whatever I did must be done at once. So, only waiting for a favorable moment, I caught hold of the gun, thrust it to one side, and leaped out into the darkness. The next moment I felt myself tumbling and rolling down an embankment. I heard the cry of the guard, trying to raise an alarm, as with a rush and a roar the train swept out of sight and hearing, and I was left alone and free, but far in the heart of the Confederacy. I got upon my feet and felt to see if I was all right. I found that I was slightly bruised, somewhat scratched, and that I was terrible scared; but, with the exception of breaking open the wound I had received in the Wilderness, I was not much hurt. Alone, unarmed, I was in the midst of an enemy's country. Above me to the north I could see the pole star, which was to be the beacon to guide my footsteps by night. To attempt to go by the seaboard I knew would be to invite certain capture. Hence I shaped my course to the north, intending to travel until I had crossed the East Tennessee Railroad, and then to strike west till I reached New Rive, which I meant to follow down to the Kanawha. My first purpose was to get something to eat, for which I felt ready to make any desperate attempt. I travelled through woods and fields for three hours, before I cam to a house. By that time I was nearly famished, having had nothing to eat for fourteen hours, and then only a small piece of corn-bread. At last I came upon a large Virginia mansion, and having thought of a plausible story to tell, walked boldly up and knocked at the door. Two large dogs answered my summons by rushing out and barking at me furiously, but I stood my ground, and soon an upper window was thrown open from which a man asked, "Who's there?" Without answering his question I said, "Quiet these dogs or I will shoot them." This he did, and I then told him to come to the door, that I was a friend, had command of a scouting party of Confederate soldiers, that we were out of rations and wanted something to eat. He at once came down and proceeded to get what I wanted, all the time talking to me and asking the news. I invented some stories which made him think that the MARTIAL DEEDS OF PENNSYLVANIA - 1092 war would soon be over, and that Southern independence was an accomplished fact. He gave me a large piece of corn-bread and about a pound of boiled pork. Thanking him, I bade him goodnight and hurried away. Seeing him follow me, I got into the woods as quickly as I could, and in a tone of command I called our, "All right, boys! Fall in! Forward! March!" and being afraid that my little ruse would be discovered, I was not long in putting considerable distance between me and that house, after which I sat down and ate a hearty meal, and then securing a comfortable bed among some dense undergrowth, I lay down and slept till daylight, which was not more than two hours. During the next five days and nights I travelled as fast as I could in the direction I had determined to pursue, meeting with many adventures, making several very narrow escapes from capture, and getting my food as best I could, mostly from the negroes, whom I could trust at all times and under every circumstance. On the morning of the sixth day I heard from a woman, at whose house I had stopped to get something to eat, that the Yankees were at Buckhannon, twenty-five miles across the Blue Ridge. I afterwards learned that it was General Hunter, on his disastrous raid to Lynchburg. I determined to reach his lines so I pushed ahead, keeping in the woods as much as possible. During the day I passed over the Great Otter Mountain (Big Peak), and in the evening, about an hour before sundown, came down into a valley, and then there was nothing between me and Hunter's forces but the Blue Ridge, which I determined to cross, if possible, during the night. In the valley I saw a log-cabin and it being the only one I could see, I thought I would go to it and try to get some food before I commenced the ascent of the mountain; so I went into the house and asked the woman who was there if I could get something to eat, and being told that I could, sat down to wait till it was ready. Of course I had to give an account of myself at every place I stopped, and I was always prepared with some plausible story. Sometimes, I was a rebel soldier, going home on furlough; at others I was a scout on important business pertaining to the government. It was only to the negroes that I revealed my true character. To this woman I concluded to tell the truth. So I said I was an escaped prisoner INCIDENTS - 1093 and trying to make my way north. While talking and waiting, I was startled to see coming around the corner, with musket in hand, a genuine rebel guerilla. There was no escape. He walked straight up to the door, cocked his musket, and said, "You surrender!" I cannot describe my feelings on hearing that word as he repeated it, "You surrender!" Instead of the bright vision, which had almost come to be a reality, of reaching the Union lines, I saw before me the prospect of probable death by hanging, or, upon the least provocation or pretext, by the hand of my captor; and if I escaped immediate death, then starvation at Andersonville. A heavy weight seemed resting upon my voice, and for a moment my feelings were those of complete despair. But in another moment I was myself again and my eyes took in the situation exactly. It did not take me many seconds to make up my mind that at all hazards I would escape from my captor or lose my life in the attempt. I could not forecast my course, but determined to take advantage of any chance that should present itself. He directed me to pass out of the door and take the path up the mountain side leading to the highway. I started, but was stopped by the woman, who said, "Wait till I get you something to eat," and brought out two pieces of corn-bread, one of which she handed to me which I put in my haversack, and the other to my captor, who was standing with his gun lying across his left arm. Just as he turned his eyes from me, and reached out his right hand, I sprang upon him, seized him by the throat, threw him over upon his back, and with both hands caught hold of his gun, knowing that if I once had possession of it, the tables would be turned. The situation was interesting, as, between the North and the South, the North so far seemed to have the best of the battle, the South being about to be captured with all his musketry. But to him unexpected reinforcements were advancing upon my rear, and in another moment I felt myself clasped in an embrace which, under other circumstances, would not have been regarded as a hostile manoeuvre. That woman had me surrounded, and the only thing left for me to do was to beat a retreat and take the chances of a shot. I slipped my hand down the barrel, cocked the piece, and pulled the trigger, think- MARTIAL DEEDS OF PENNSYLVANIA - 1094 ing I could fire it off and get out of sight before my escort could reload; but it missed fire. So I tore myself away from those loving (?) embraces and fled. The rebel followed some distance, calling upon me to halt or he would shoot me, and when I was within a few rods of the woods I heard the cap snap: but again the gun missed fire, and in another moment I was over the fence, into the woods, and out of sight. I travelled all night and in the morning about daylight came upon General Hunter's pickets, and was soon in camp, safe at last. I went with the army to Lynchburg, then back to Charleston, thence home. After a short visit I rejoined my regiment in front of Petersburg, and had a part in every battle till the surrender of Lee. In the winter of 1865 I received a furlough, for meritorious conduct in making my escape from the enemy. WILLIAM RICKARDS, Colonel of the Twenty-ninth regiment, received a terrible wound while leading the head of his brigade on the enemy's works at Pine Knob, Georgia, on the 15th of June, 1864. It was thought to be mortal, and his friends took a final leave of him. His three years' term of service had expired a few days before, and to fulfil a pledge made to his family he had sent in his resignation. Before the battle occurred, however, at his earnest solicitation, he had been released from his pledge, and had promptly recalled his resignation. But his letter of recall miscarried, and after rallying sufficiently to reach his home, though still in a critical condition, an event occurred which came near proving more painful than the wound itself. It was an order issued from General Thomas' head-quarters, in whose army he was, dishonorably dismissing him from the service. This intelligence, in his feeble state, cut to the quick. To a faithful soldier of three years standing, dying of wounds inflected while gallantly battling with the enemy, it was indeed a cruel blow. Fever was already preying upon his body, and now wounded pride was devouring his spirit. Constant wakefulness was fast leading to delirium. At this juncture the faithful wife started for Washington to endeavor, by a personal interview with the president, to have the order revoked. Arriving after the hours for receiving visitors, the President's ushers declined to INCIDENTS - 1095 admit her. But on presenting the case as vital, and refusing to leave the house, she was finally allowed to enter. After kindly and patiently hearing her statement, Mr. Lincoln said: "Madam, there must be other charges against your husband, or else he has had great injustice done him." She answered, "All my husband desires is an investigation." Thereupon Mr. Lincoln wrote upon the discharge paper these words, to which he affixed his signature: "So far as I can understand, the order, dismissing this officer, should be immediately revoked. Will you examine into the case and report?" This he directed her to take to the War Department. "Here," she says, "I did not meet with that benevolent pleasant reception which our President gave me, and all who came to him with heavy hearts." After looking at the paper, Mr. Stanton said: "The Generals at the front know best what course to pursue. We cannot interfere with their action. I have full confidence in General Thomas." Having said this, he turned away; but noticing that she was not disposed to be satisfied with this, he gave her a searching glance, as she said: "I believe it is the order of the President that this case be examined, and I shall esteem it a great favor, if it can be done speedily, as my husband's life may depend on my prompt return." Judging by the earnestness of her demeanor, and the apparent agony of her heart, that the case was really one of wrong and injustice, he directed her to take the paper to General Chipman, to have the military record of Colonel Rickards investigated. This was politely accorded by General Chipman, who directed her to take the report which he had made out to Judge Advocate Holt, whose indorsement was necessary before action could be had. After reading General Chipman's memorandum, the Judge Advocate made the following indorsement thereon: "This I consider a case of hardship. This officer has a military record any man might envy;" at the same time observing to Mrs. Rickards, "Madam, this is only another instance of a country's ingratitude, and I am sure, if you will now take this to the President, he will revoke the order of dismissal, and you can start for home with good news for your husband." MARTIAL DEEDS OF PENNSYLVANIA - 1096 On visiting Mr. Lincoln he promptly revoked the hateful order, at the same time inquiring particularly about the wound of Colonel Rickards, and in a laughing, pleasant way said, "Well, never mind. We will heal it all soon by making him a General." It would have been but an act of justice which Colonel Rickards richly merited, and a graceful acknowledgment of the wrong which had been done him. But in the absorbing duties of maintaining the great contest, now at its height, the wounded soldier was forgotten, and others were ever ready to push forward and trouble the waters before him. PHILIP R. PALM, M.D., Surgeon of the One Hundred and Tenth, and afterwards of the One Hundred and Thirty-seventh regiment, and member of the operating board in the battles of Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, gives some interesting incidents of those engagements. On the 30th of April, 1863, he says, our division hospital was located near the Fitz Hugh House. Here I dressed the wounds of six or seven of the enemy. I could hardly get a word from them, which seemed strange. Gradually, however, they all became quite communicative. One of the "Lousiana Tigers," by the name of Stuart, was shot through the head, the ball, a large one, entering the temple on the side and making its exit through the other, passing through the cerebrum. Although he was blind, he conversed rationally. One day I mentioned the name of Stuart. He said that was not his name. On one occasion he got up and walked out of the hospital. Inflammation succeeded and he died at the end of a week. To illustrate the delusion under which many of the enemy acted, I will relate the case of a private from Atlanta, Georgia. He was one of the party alluded to. After dressing his wounds, which were mortal, he became quite familiar. He informed me that he was a lawyer. He said the rebels had been told that if they were taken prisoners they would be subjected to cruel and inhuman treatment. I asked him if they believed such stories. He replied that they did. "Well," said I, "how do you find it?" He smiled and said, "Oh! I could not be treated better by my friends; no, not so well, because we have not things as you have them." He died soon after. INCIDENTS - 1097 At the battle of Fredericksburg I witnessed a novel conflict between three stallions. A large number of horses of officers were parked near the hospitals. Among them was a little black stallion belonging to one of the surgeons. At the time when the cannonading was most furious, and the air was filled with shrieking shells and sulphurous smoke, the same fiery spirit that impelled the men on to conflict seemed to infect the horses. With heads erect and distended nostrils they snuffed the air of battle. The little black soon broke loose, and rushing in among the others made an attack on two other stallions. These, too, broke loose, and the three made a rush for each other. With eyes glaring, they seized each other by the neck, fairly screaming with rage, rearing and plunging with their steel shod feet, until the three lay prostrate, without for a moment letting go their hold. In that position they kept up the fight for a considerable time. And were finally separated with the greatest difficulty. The little black was led back to his place with head and tail erect as if triumphant. He again attempted to break away, but was unable to accomplish his object. While the combat lasted it drew a good house. THE following illustrates the power of the human system to resist, and recuperate from injury. Major John Fritz, of the Ninety-third Pennsylvania regiment, received a wound through the right thigh from a minie ball in the early part of the day, at Fair Oaks, May 31st, 1862. Towards evening he was hit in the left thigh, causing a compound fracture of the bone, the result of which was the stiffening of the knee-joint and the shortening of the limb two inches. On the 5th of May, 1864, having measurably recovered and returned to the field, he received a scalp-wound from a musket ball at the battle of the Wilderness. On the 9th of May following, at Laurel Hill, he got a flesh-wound from a rifle ball in the left arm. Three days later, at Spottsylvania Court House, a Minie ball struck him in the left cheek below the eye, fracturing the upper jaw, resulting in the loss of the teeth, the injury of sight and hearing, and a troublesome open wound. On the 25th of March, 1865, he received a Minie ball through the right arm, fracturing the large bone, in consequence of which MARTIAL DEEDS OF PENNSYLVANIA - 1098 the wrist and fingers were stiffened, and the nerves permanently paralyzed. Notwithstanding he was thus as it were, shot to pieces, he survived all his injuries and served as a postmaster of the city of Reading for several years. He died in 1873. THE intelligence and sensibility displayed by dumb brutes has exited the wonder of, and challenged a solution from the keenest investigators. The case of one of the canine race widely known, and well authenticated, is given below. The account was prepared for the author's use under the direction of Brevet Major-General Richard Coulter, with whose regiment, the Eleventh Pennylvania, the events recorded occurred. SALLIE. "She was a gash an' faithful tyke As ever lap a sheugh or dyke; Her honest sonsie pleasant face, Aye her friends in like place." In the month of May, 1861, the Eleventh regiment Pennsylvania volunteers, being enlisted for the term of three months, and commanded by Colonel Phaon Jarrett, together with the Ninth regiment, occupied the Fair Grounds near West Chester. The camp was an exceedingly pleasant one, the quarters comfortable, and the rations plenty and good. War then, at the North, was but a fancy of poesy and the dream of fiction; its sorrows and its miseries were to come, and soldiers and camps were but novelties and shows. The citizens at the pleasant old town welcomed the volunteers, although the roll of the drums and the tread of the march broke upon the wonted quiet of the Sabbath-day; and during their stay entertained them as holiday visitors, treating them with a hospitality and kindness which in after times called up gentle memories and grateful emotions. The ladies of the town and vicinity, beautiful and accomplished, daily visited the camp, talked with them, prepared a banquet for them, and by their smiles, presence, and delicate sympathy, gave to Camp Wayne more the semblance of a Maytime picnic or a pleasure excursion, than what it was intended to be, a school of instruction, drill, and discipline. One bright morning a civilian, carrying on his arm a small INCIDENTS - 1099 market-basket, came to Captain Terry's quarters, Company I, and stated that he had brought him the pup he had promised him, producing from the basket a little puffy, pug-nosed, black-muzzled canine, scarce four weeks old, and barely able to toddle upon its short and clumsy legs. The pup was taken into quarters, a nest provided for it under the Captain's bunk, fed, cared for, and duly christened SALLIE. She soon became accustomed to her new friends, and thrived rapidly. Milk and soft bread were to be had in plenty, and there was nothing for her to do but heat and sleep, snugly rolled up in her bed or lolling lazily on the blankets. No shadow of future trouble or hardship cast a gloom over her spirits, nor darkened the sunshine of her happy infancy. Such was our heroine's introduction to a life which proved an eventful one, changing from the quiet, ease, and plenty, to hardship, weary travels, bloody scenes, excitement and suffering-a life, with its surroundings, such as few men have lived, and such as no other of her race ever lived before. Whilst the regiment lay in its different camps, she stayed at the Captain's quarters, at the marque, or about the company street, was fed, petted, and played with, soon becoming a general favorite, and when the term of three months expired she had grown to respectable size and was able to take care of herself. When this regiment was reorganized for three years' service, Sallie returned with Company I, and again took her place in the field. The winter of 1862 was passed in doing provost-guard duty in the city of Annapolis, Maryland, drilling, fatigue duty at the Naval Academy, and in guarding the Annapolis Branch Railroad. Sallie took part in all these various duties, having become a regimental institution, and formed new acquaintances and made new friends throughout the entire company, always evidencing some particular intimacy, as her fancy or whim suggested, which would be continued for weeks. She knew the roll of the drum at reveille, was out of quarters among the first, and regularly attended the morning roll-call. At the squad or company drills she patiently followed the particular soldier she had selected, until it was over. When the regiment formed for battalion-drill, she sought out the Colonel's horse, who soon began to know and recognize her, and barking and leaping MARTIAL DEEDS OF PENNSYLVANIA - 1100 led the way with him to the drill-ground, remaining until the regiment was dismissed. At dress-parade she sought the Color Sergeant, and after the regiment was formed, lay down in front of the colors, watching the "beat off," and not moving from her position until the parade was over. These two positions, to lead off with the Colonel's horse when the regiment moved, and to front the line at dress-parade, thus chosen by her at Annapolis, were sure to be taken, and the habit continued until the day she led the column from the camp at Hatcher's Run. The regiment left Annapolis on the 10th of April, 1862, for Washington, going thence to Manassas Junction, to Falmouth and Aquea Creek, and back again by way of Alexandria to Manassas and Thoroughfare Gap, Front Royal, and the Shenandoah; then to Warrenton and Waterloo, and down to the Rapidan. The battle of Cedar Mountain was fought; Pope's retreat, Rappahanock, and Bull Run rapidly succeeded. In all these Sallie was a participant, faithfully following in the long in the long and hurried marches, by night and by day, under fire for the first time at Cedar Mountain, sticking close by the colors at Bull Run, and falling back with them to Centreville and Chantilly. In the disorganization subsequent, through the toilsome march to South Mountain, through cities and towns, she managed to thread her way, and at Antietam went out into the corn-field with one of the skirmishers who vainly endeavored to drive her back, fearing she would be dilled. A ball did, indeed strike her here on the side, but fortunately only left its mark through her hair. At Fredericksburg, on the 13th of December, Sallie was again with the regiment in the thick of the fight, crossed the river in her accustomed place, and went on regardless of the heavy firing. During the afternoon Colonel Coulter was wounded and obliged to leave the field. The regiment had been exposed to a terrible fire, had suffered severely, its ranks thinned and broken, and Sallie, for the first time in her life, became demoralized. Missing the accustomed faces and forms, she sought safety in a flank movement to the rear, and for the Pontoon. She was seen to approach it at a rapid rate, and "Old Daddy Johnson," detailed in the hospital department, to whom she was much attached, and INCIDENTS - 1101 Whom she frequently followed, whistled for her; but she only gave one look of recognition, hurried on, and, "With drooping tail and humbled crest," passed across the bridge and sought the temporary hospital on the other side to which the wounded were conveyed, anticipating by a few hours a similar movement by the entire army. On the expedition to Mine Run, Burside's advance, again in front of Fredericksburg, at Chancellorsville, and all the marches, movements and operations of the regiment, the faithful animal steadily shared the toil, and privation, and danger, escaping unhurt, remaining true to her friends in all changings of camps and amidst the confusion and intricacies of a vast army-through march, in advance or retreat, a very embodiment of devotion, and she never straggled nor deserted. Hunger and thirst, heat and cold, were disregarded, and hardship and exposure utterly unheeded. At Gettysburg, having kept with the regiment the whole of the long and rapid march from the front of Fredericksburg, Sallie went into the first day's fight; but during the repulse and falling back of our line through the town, became separated from it, and being unable or unwilling to pass the rebel lines, returned to the crest of the hill, where the regiment had been engaged, and seeking out the dead and wounded, remained with them, licking their wounds, or patiently watching by their lifeless bodies. Captain Cook, of the Twelfth Massachusetts, with the Provost Guard, on the morning of the 4th, while in search of stragglers and prisoners, found her and took her back with him to the brigade and her own regiment. During this faithful vigil of three days and nights, she must have been without food, and appeared quite lean and emaciated from her long fasting. Why she was not either captured, or wantonly killed by the straggling rebel soldiers, seems strange, and can only be accounted for by the fact that she knew a rebel uniform from our own, and from her antipathy to them would give the wearers as wide a berth as possible. MARTIAL DEEDS OF PENNSYLANIA - 1102 Following the regiment closely in the battles through the Wilderness, she was, on the 8th of May, struck in the neck by a Minie ball. The wound was examined by one of the field surgeons, bandaged, and she was sent back with some of the wounded to the hospital. Here her wound was carefully re-examined by Dr. Chase, the surgeon in charge, and pronounced not dangerous; but the call could not be extracted. She stayed about the hospital a while, but soon returned to the field to the regiment, and about her first performance on her return was to tear the seat out of the breeches of a conscript from another regiment, who being scared at the firing, had broken ranks, and was retreating through the line of the Eleventh. Sallie carried this ball for several months, it becoming enclosed in a cyst in the fleshy part other neck, the size of a hen's egg, where it could be plainly felt. Afterwards the neck began to fester; and finally the unpleasant appendage dropped out and the wound healed, leaving a well-defined scar. During the operations on the Weldon Road, the Hickford raid, and siege of Petersburg, she travelled along, or stayed with the en in the trenches or at the forts, or on the picket line, always at her old place at the head of the column when it moved, announcing the departure by barking and jumping at the horse of the officer in command until the line fairly started, when she quietly trotted along, sometimes at the horses' heels, sometimes in the rear, or winding through the legs of the men in the middle of the column. Sallie's career, at length, was brought to an end, and after a life ---of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field; Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach. she was killed on the 6th of February, 1865, at Hatcher's Run, Virginia. The Adjutant of the regiment, at the close of his official report of the battle, says: "Sallie was killed when the regiment was making its first advance upon the enemy. She was in line with the file-closers when shot. We buried her under the enemy's fire." One of the men, in a better dated "Camp near Hatcher's Run, Virginia, February 11th, 1865," writes: "Poor Sallie fell in INCIDENTS - 1103 the front line in the fight at the Run-a bullet pierced her brain. She was buried where she fell, by some of the boys, even whilst under murderous fire, so much had they become attached to the poor brute, who so long had shared with them the toilsome march and the perils of battle. It would indeed, be a pleasant reverie if one could reconcile to himself the poor Indian's theory of the happy bunting-grounds, where his faithful dog would bear him company." Sallie was a brindle, bull-terrier, of a fine breed, and showed marks of blood. She was of undoubted courage, generally good-tempered, always so towards any one in the regiment; but had an extreme dislike to civilians, women and strange darkies, whom she would make battle with anywhere in the camps. She was cleanly in her habits, and strictly honest, never touching the rations of men unless given to her. She would lie down by haversacks full of meat, or stand by while fresh beef was being issued and never offer to touch it. She seemed to know that she would share, for the men never let her suffer if they had anything themselves, and she patiently waited until it was given her. The men grew very fond of her, and so far from any of them ever striking or kicking her, they immediately resented or punished any attempt of the kind. She was of medium size, squarely but handsomely built, her coat soft and silky, chest broad and deep, her head and ears small, and her eyes a bright hazel, full of fire and intelligence. She was active, quick, and had remarkable powers of endurance. Her knowledge of the individual members of the regiment was truly wonderful, and one was at a loss to know how she acquired it; a whole corps might pass her, but she could make no mistake about her own regiment, and never followed any other. She could distinguish and recognize her own people under all circumstances, whether in camp or on the march, and even when at home on furlough. She knew the teamsters belonging to the regiment, although they were necessarily much absent from it, and when, about the time of crossing the James river, she missed regiment, she hunted up the wagon belonging to the head-quarters, remained with it, and came into camp the first time it was ordered up seeming highly delighted at getting back again. MARTIAL DEEDS OF PENNSYLVANIA - 1104 The night preceding the movement to Hatcher's Run, where she was killed, Sallie quartered under the tent occupied by a sergeant and three men of Company D, and at intervals awoke them with a prolonged and mournful cry. They endeavored to drive her away, but she persistently returned, repeating her moaning, as if predicting the sad fate of the morrow. The sergeant and one of the men were killed by her side upon the field, and each of the other two was severely wounded. In the long after years, when the gray-haired veteran of the war for the Union repeats the legend of his earlier days, he will tell his listening grandchildren the story of Sallie. ROBERT MONTGOMERY, a Lieutenant in the One Hundred and Sixteenth regiment, was mortally wounded while in command of his company, and leading it in the celebrated charge on Marye's Heights, in the battle of Fredericksburg. He was shot in the groin while crossing the bridge in the rear of the town, and fell into the canal. He succeeded in reaching the shore, and was carried to the hospital, where he expired a few days after. He was a Southern man, a native of Lynchburg, Virginia, and at the breaking out of the Rebellion owned numerous slaves. But his love for the Union was greater than his desire for wealth, and abandoning everything, he followed the fortunes of the national army until he gave his life a sacrifice. THE REV. ROBERT AUDLEY BROWNE, D.D., a chaplain without fear and without reproach, of the One Hundredth (Round-head) regiment, since State Senator, and President of Westminster College, in the following narrative furnishes many interesting particulars of the battle of Chantilly, and reminiscenses of the fall of Stevens and Kearny, which can never fail to interest the American people, deeply reverencing, as they do, the names of those two heroic Generals. The night that closed the battle of Bull Run (August 30th, 1862) saw Pope's army defeated, but formidably drawn up on the strong heights at Centreville, with the roads well guarded, and Reno's corps, the Ninth, picketing at the crossings of Bull Run. Pollard's account of the frantic passage of this stream, by INCIDENTS - 1105 the Union troops, I judge, from my own observation, to be a pure fiction. The next day was the Sabbath, when church-bells were ringing and peaceful congregations assembling all over the country. It opened with a dreary rain on the army around Centreville. The sharp battle at Chantilly followed close, which has for some cause been overlooked and its history left unwritten. Its relations to the campaign were of great importance, inasmuch as it was a victory to the National arms, gained by much gallantry and bloodshed. It was Lee's plan to again force Pope to battle while still remote from his base of supplies, and crush his army, or at least cut his communications with Washington and capture his trains. To bring this about he attempted a repetition of Thursday's manoeuver, which had brought on the battle of Bull Run. He accordingly ordered Stonewall Jackson to make a left flank movement around Pope's forces. This was done by crossing Bull Run at Sudly Springs Ford and advancing upon our line of communication at Fairfax Court House by the Little River Turnpike. But it was Monday evening before Jackson neared his objective point, when he was brought to bay, and forced to fight the battle in which Reno's and Kearny's troops were left in possession of the field. On Monday afternoon Stevens' division of Reno's corps lay on the heights of Centreville, while the white covered wagons-an immense train-formed and moved, hour after hour, along the turnpike leading to Washington. Even then Jackson was advancing by the little River Pike, which, after passing through Chantilly and Germantown, leads into the Washington Pike at Fairfax Court House, where, if not intercepted, he would have been among our trains in a few hours. Of this, however, Pope was advised, and as a precaution his various corps were well posted at points between Centreville and Fairfax, while it was assigned to Reno, supported by Kearny, to lead the advance upon the approaching column of Jackson. While the wagon train was thus moving along, on the afternoon of Monday, suddenly the order came to Stevens' division, laying on the heights of Centreville, to fall in. We marched on the same road with the trains a half mile or more, and then MARTIAL DEEDS OF PENNSYLVANIA - 1106 northward, by an obscure way, and halted. Advancing again, a fence is laid low, and we pass through a meadow, an orchard, and a narrow strip of wood, when, suddenly, as we reach its farther side-whiz-crack-the bullets whistle past us, and cut the twigs and leaves over our heads! We have struck Jackson's line of march, and he receives us in line of battle! Then comes the order to form, which is done under a rapid fire. The crash of the musketry is deafening. But a sound more terrible than the noise of battle bursts upon us. It is the voice of the storm! Beneath the crash of Heaven's artillery and the descending torrents, the battle is fought. The line of Stevens is formed under a withering fire and the no less confusing uproar of the thunderstorm, and under his immediate orders makes a charge. The movement was so rapid that the mounted officers had barely time to dismount, tie their horses, and repeat the proper commands. General Stevens was near me and dismounted. I did the same, and after tying my horse took my place in the line. It was less than five minutes afterwards that the General hailed me from the right to say that his son, Captain Hazzard Stevens, his Adjutant-General, was wounded, and wished me to conduct him to the surgeon, which I did. He turned to press on with his gallant division, his face to the foe. Knowing the desperation of the hour, and the character of the loader he was encountering, he threw himself unreservedly in the face of the battle. Seizing the colors of the Seventy-ninth New York State Militia, to encourage and inspire them for the torrent that was bearing upon them, he was heroically advancing at their head, when he was instantly killed by a musket ball. As his wounded son leaned on my arm, while we walked to the rear, he was loud in deprecating his father's rashness, and said he would be killed. I returned to find that the son's prediction had been speedily verified. Before again reaching the line of battle, Stevens' division, notwithstanding the loss of their General, had made a bold advance across the field, and had retired for lack of ammunition. By this time General Kearny's troops had been thrown forward under General Birney, and were engaging the enemy, the fight raging furiously. At this juncture, in the midst of the gathering darkness of the evening, an officer rode up and asked, INCIDENTS - 1107 "Who commands these troops?" I did not notice that he had but one arm, nor did I know at the moment that it was Kearny. I took him immediately to Lieutenant-Colonel Lecky, of the One Hundredth, who was commanding the brigade. "Colonel," exclaimed Kearny, "I want to put my battery just here. I want to know if you can support it." To this the Colonel replied, stating his loss of officers and men, and lack of ammunition. Kearny did not stop to argue, but instantly turning to the ranks, cried out, "Men! I want to put my battery on this ground: will you defend it?" A rousing cheer was the only response, and the General was satisfied that his guns would be safe. At this time I heard Lieutenant Critchlow express to Lecky a fear lest room had been left for the rebels to pierce our lives. Birney also reported to Kearny a gap on our right, when the latter put spurs to his horse and rode in the direction indicated, where, encountering some troops, he demanded who they were; discovering his mistake he turned to escape, and bent low on his horse to shun the fire, when one of the bullets showered after him pierced and ranged completely through his body, killing him instantly. He was alone and his fate unknown. General Birney, on whom the command devolved, supposed him captured. Having repulsed the foe, the Union army withdrew next day towards Washington, when the enemy, taking possession of the ground, announced his death. Our corps left before day. Learning from Dr. Kimble, our division surgeon, that the ground was not to be held, I decided to remain with our severely wounded, bur whose conveyance to Washington no provision could be made. The wounded of our regiment had been moved to the farm house and barn near by, and in the orchard hundreds of men, separated from their commands, exhausted with the march and the fight, and wet to the skin, had kindled large fires from the neighboring fences. They were now in their blankets in the tired sleep which a soldier only knows. At about four in the morning, Dr. Kimble and myself went through the orchard and announced that every man would fall into rebel hands who remained, when full five hundred MARTIAL DEEDS OF PENNSYLVANIA - 1108 started up, and in twenty minutes were on their way to Washington. It was nearly eleven before the rebels appeared, and then but a few cavalry pickets; afterwards a portion of a regiment of infantry. Colonel Tieman Brien, First Virginia cavalry, paroled us and gave me a pass to Washington. It was on the third day, near evening, that ambulances, under a flag of truce, arrived, and carried the first instalment of our wounded to Alexandria. Our condition had been pitiable enough. Thirty-three of our wounded were dead. We had scarcely force enough to bury them. On the battle-field were more. I walked over it on Tuesday evening with Dr. O'Farrell, of a Massachusetts regiment. Our dead lay upon it. The rebel dead had been removed. Here and there the ground, hard beaten, showed where two lines opposite each other had encountered as foes in the darkness. Some of our men were stripped of their clothing, and as we advanced we met here and there a ragged pair of butternut pants, left by the Confederate, when he had hastily donned the blue of his fallen countryman; and here and there we came across a mound that showed where burial had been given one of Jackson's men. CAPTAIN WILLIAM HYNDMAN, a veteran soldier of the Fourth Pennsylvania cavalry, was wounded through the ear and back of the head at Sulphur Springs, while acting with his regiment on the rear guard to the army in its retrograde to Centreville, on the 12th of October, 1863, and while laying insensible upon the field fell into the enemy's hands. He was a brave man, and had made many daring scouts. On being taken to the rear, he found himself in company with one hundred and fifty-six others of his regiment. The struggle had been a desperate one against vast odds and in a forlorn hope. With his companions he soon found himself incarcerated in Libby Prison, where the treatment was at its worst, and the suffering from the uncared-for wound intense. Believing that he would soon have to succumb to his misery if he much longer remained, he determined to make his escape. It was the practice of the prison officials to send a number each day to the cook-house on Eighteenth street, under guard, to labor. Seeking a companion, Corporal Alexander Welton, a true man, who had been sadly gashed with sabre wounds, INCIDENTS - 1109 he began trading for rebel caps and uniforms. Accoutring themselves in all but caps, and throwing blankets about their shoulders, they watched their chance as they turned the corner of the street on their way to the work-house, handed their blankets to those in rear, donned their rebel caps, stepped from the ranks, faced about and sauntered back, whistling as they went, meeting the rear guard without exciting suspicion. They had taken Richmond without a battle. Passing out of the city, pausing to watch the workmen at the navy-yard, they made their way toilsomely towards the Union lines. Narrowly escaping capture from the enemy who discovered them upon the James, and enduring untold hardship in making their way over swollen streams, pools of mud and stagnant water, their wounds still open, they finally reached the National camps at Williamsburg, where they were joyfully received and tenderly cared for. JENNY WADE, the heroine of Gettysburg, who sacrificed her young life in that great contest, will ever be regarded with tender emotions. When on the morning of the 1st of July, 1863, the battle opened, and the weary and wounded came pouring into town, this girl, with a heart moved to all tender accord, began to bake bread for the fainting and famished soldiers. When the day was ended, and the Union army was forced to abandon the place to the enemy with a great multitude of wounded, recognizing in them a common humanity, she continued her devoted labors. In the progress of the battle, the house where she was at work came in exact range between the two lines. She was admonished to leave, but she refused to heed the injunction, and continued to prosecute her labor of love and noble self-sacrifice. The battle raged furiously, and as the one side or the other surged to and fro over the plain, more imminent became her danger; but she was blind to the portents of destruction, and deaf to the awful voice of the storm, while the savory loaves steadily issued from her hands. In an evil hour, as the conflict came near and more near, an enemy's bullet pierced her pure breast, and she sank in death, pouring out her life-blood while ministering to the victims of the strife. Nearly coincident with her fall, a rebel officer high in rank perished near her dwelling, and his comrades prepared MARTIAL DEEDS OF PENNSYLVANIA - 1110 For him a coffin; but before it was completed, the enemy was obliged to retire, and the form of the maiden was laid therein in place of the rebel. A ballad, signed E.S.T., lamenting her fate and recounting in romantic strain her saintly deeds, soon after made its appearance, from which the following extract is given: Beside a little streamlet, that sparkled clear and bright, Reflecting back in beauty the morning's rosy light, There stood a little cottage, so humble yet so fair, You might have guessed a fairy had found refuge there. There bloomed the sweet syringos, there blushed the roses red, And there the stately lily its rarest perfume shed; Within that humble cottage there dwelt a maiden fair, And those who knew pronounced her the fairest flower there. But to that lowly dwelling there came, one summer's morn, The muttering of the thunder, which told the coming storm: "Fly to your country's rescue!" the rousing tocsin said, "And sweep the base invaders to slumber with the dead." And Jennie's father heard it; her lover heard it too; And those intrepid freemen asked now what they should do; They had no though of keeping a coward watch at home, While sweeping through their country the rebel foes did come. So calling to his daughter, the hardy yeoman said; . . . "I hear, my darlng Jennie, the rebel foeman's tread; And ere the strife is ended, I may be with the dead; May God in mercy keep you, and every blessing send, And should I fall, in William you'll find a faithful friend." "And I, my darling Jennie," the gallant William said' "May in the coming conflict be numbered with the dead; And yet," with trembling accents, and misty eyes, he said, "I only fear, my treasure, lest harm should come to thee." "Fear not for me," she answered, "but I will breathe a prayer, That God will guide and cherish the lives to me so near; And when the conflict's over, come to this home so dear, And I will wait to welcome, and bless your coming here." The summer days went gliding in golden circles by, And Lee's impetuous army to Gettysburg drew nigh; The fierce and bloody conflict swept through that region fair, Yet still heroic Jennie dwelt in the cottage there. And while her heart was aching lest those she loved were dead, He plump and rosy fingers moulded the soldier's bread. "Fly! Fly! Heroic maiden," a Union soldier said, "For through this vale there sweepeth a double storm of lead." INCIDENTS - 1111 Then spoke the fearless Jennie: "I fear not for my life, My father and one other are in that deadly strife; I may not fight beside them, but ne'er shall it be said, While they were battling for me, I feared to bake their bread." Loud and more loud thundered the crimson tide of war, And thick and fast the bullets swept through the summer air, And one (some fury sped it) pierced Jennie's breast, And laid its throbbing pulses for evermore to rest. The bloody day was over, and thousands slept there dead, Who on that summer morning swept by with martial tread; Among them Jennie's father in death's embraces lay, But William passed unwounded through all that fearful day. And so with hurried footsteps he sought the cottage door, But oh! no Jennie met him with welcome, as of yore. He crossed the humble threshold, then paused in horror there; There lay his heart's best treasure-so cold, so still so fair! "Oh God!" he cried in anguish, "what fiend hath done this deed? Would I had died in battle, ere I had seen her bleed: Alas! alas! My darling! No words of welcome come, For cold in death sweet Jennie awaits for me at home. "For this (oh! hear me heaven) my eye shall never fail, My hand be true and steady to guide the leaden hail: A force more strong than powder each deadly ball shall urge- The memory of the maiden who died at Gettysburg." And now all bravely battling for freedom and for life, Whene'er the bugle soundeth to call him to the strife, He remembers that fair maiden, all cold and bloody laid, And strikes with dread precision, as he thinks of JENNIE WADE.