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Harper's Weekly 1862 part 4 of 4
Harper's Weekly 1862 part 4 of 4
Harper's Weekly 1862 part 4 of 4
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€69 ['5981 'l S69
€69 ['5981 'l S69
[NOVEMBEB 1, <strong>1862</strong>. NOVEMBER 1, <strong>1862</strong>.J HARPER'S WEEKLY. 694 CAMP DICK ROBINSON. WE publish on this page a view <strong>of</strong> CAMP DICK ROBINSON, Outrun! County, Kentucky, a very fa mous place, which has just been vacated by the rebel army under Bragg and reoccupied by Union troops. Our picture is from a sketcli by Mr. W. T. R. Brown, <strong>of</strong> Cincinnati. Camp Dick Robinson i§ sllnate about midway between Cincinnatland Cumberland Gap, 126 miles from the former place, 27 miles from, Lexington, and 8 miles east <strong>of</strong> Dnnvllle, the residence <strong>of</strong> the Kev. R. J. Breckinrldge. It is on the Barm <strong>of</strong> the fa mous Captain Dick Robinson, an uncompromising Union man, and a very popular citizen <strong>of</strong> Ken tucky. The camp is well known as having been the first rallying-plabe for the Kentucky Unionists and the rsfugees from Tennessee. Hither were sent the arms furnished by Government to the Union Home Guards <strong>of</strong> Kentucky, which have formed the nucleus <strong>of</strong> the Union army in that State; its importance la a military depot during the first year <strong>of</strong> the war was second to that <strong>of</strong> no other spot in the State. The late Major-General Nelson was one <strong>of</strong> its early commanders; he may be said, in fact, to have founded It. He always loved the place, and after he was shot he ex pressed a wish to be buried on the spot which had been the scene <strong>of</strong> his patriotic endeavors to pre serve his State in the Union. The rebels, in their recent invasion <strong>of</strong> Kentucky, took possession <strong>of</strong> Camp Dick Robinson, and rechristened it Camp Breckinridge. They found but little there, how ever, to reward them for the capture. Quite re cently they evacuated the place with precipitation, and the loyal residents believe that no flag but the old Stars and Stripes will ever again float over Camp Dick Robinson. Our picture is taken from the southwest. Cap tain Robinson's house is seen just over the tents, a little to the left <strong>of</strong> the centre <strong>of</strong> the picture. The road in front <strong>of</strong> the house, passing to the right <strong>of</strong> the pictnre, Is the tnrnpike to Cumberland Gap, along which Eragg's army lately skedaddled and Buell followed in pursnit. HE HAS GONE, AND I HAVE SENT HIM! HE has gone, and I have sent him! Think yon I wonld bid him stay, Leaving, craveu-like, to others All the burden <strong>of</strong> the day? All the burden? nay, the triumph! Is it hard to understand All the joy that thrills the hero Battling for his native land? He has gone, and I have sent him! Could I keep him at ray side While the brave old ship that bears us Plunges in the perilous tide? Nay, I blush bnt at the qnestion, What am I, that I should chill All bis brave and generous promptings Captive to a woman's will? He has gone, and I have sent him! I have buckled on his sword, I have bidden him strike for Freedom, For his conntry, for the Lord! As I marked his l<strong>of</strong>ty bearing, And the flush upon his cheek, I have caught my heart rebelling That my woman's arm is weak. He has gone, and I have sent him! Not without n thought <strong>of</strong> pain, For I know the war's dread chances, And we may not meet again. Life itself is but a lending, He that gave perchance may take; If it be so, I will bear it Meekly for my country's sake. He has gone, and I have sent him! This henceforward be my pride, I have given my cherished darling Freely to the righteons side. I, with all a mother's weakness, Hold him now without a flaw; Yet when he returns I'll hail him Twice as noble as before. BUKIED ALIVE. THOMAS AVHITMEAD, Joseph Anscombe, and Henry Aldham lived at Stratford, in the county <strong>of</strong> Wiltshire, in England, and worked a chalk-pit on Salisbury Plain for their joint benefit. This so-called pit was in the form <strong>of</strong> a crescent, the ex cavation having been begun at the foot <strong>of</strong> a large mound, so that the entrance should be on R level with the adjoining plain. After the excavation had been carried on for some time, they cut out a chamber in the chalk for the purpose <strong>of</strong> shelter in storms, and for holding tools, whBel-barrows, and other things. On the 16th <strong>of</strong> April a terrific storm arose, the wind blowiug with peculiar violence on this plain, owing to its great extent and the few ob stacles which exist there to impede its progress. The rain fell in torrents, and the flashes <strong>of</strong> light ning succeeded each other so rapidly that the air seemed all ablaze. The three men sat down in their nook to wait till the storm had passed over. Whitmead and Anscombe struck a light and be gan smoking, but Aldham, who was a man <strong>of</strong> an unusually serious turn <strong>of</strong> mind, and much given to the study <strong>of</strong> religious subjects, sat down a little within the entrance, just out <strong>of</strong> reach <strong>of</strong> the driv ing rain, and began reading the Pilgrim's Progress, the numbers <strong>of</strong> which were left at the pit by a book- hawker who crossed tho plain at regular intervals during the year. Being asked by his pnrtners to read aloud, he commenced with the account <strong>of</strong> Christian's journey through the Valley <strong>of</strong> the Shadow <strong>of</strong> Death. The exciting character <strong>of</strong> the narrative, combined with the awe inspired by the raging storm, caused the other two to listen with such breathless interest that their pipes were for gotten and the light died out. Just as Aldham was reading the passage—" The flames would be reaching toward him; also, he heard doleful voices and rustlings to and fro, so that sometimes hs thought he should be torn in pieces, or trodden down like mire in the streets. This frightful sight was seen, and these dreadful noises were heard by him for several miles together; and coming to a place where he thought he heard a company <strong>of</strong> fiends coming forward to meet him, he stopped and began to mnse what he had best to do"—a more furious blast came, the howling and roarirfg <strong>of</strong> which drowned the reader's voice, and almost over powered the sonnd <strong>of</strong> the falling <strong>of</strong> a large fir-tree, several <strong>of</strong> which grew within a few paces <strong>of</strong> the top <strong>of</strong> the cave. This tree fell over the entrance, and its matted roots tore np a large portion <strong>of</strong> the earth which formed the ro<strong>of</strong> <strong>of</strong> the cavern, and to this circumstance the two men were probably in debted for their escape from instant suffocation from the consequence <strong>of</strong> what followed almost immedi ately afterward. They were still trembling from the fright when the lightning descended upon the fallen tree, tearing it into fragments, and from thence psss- ed into the earth, rending it, and causing the chalk to fall into the cavern where they had sheltered themselves, and burying them therein. Anscombe and Whitmead being at the bottom <strong>of</strong> the excava tion happened to be nnder that <strong>part</strong> <strong>of</strong> the surface from which the earth had been torn up by the roots <strong>of</strong> the tree, and were able to breathe with toler able facility, thongh unable to extricate themselves from the mass <strong>of</strong> chalk which surrounded them; their position being still further aggravated by the rain which, continning to pour without slackening for some time, trickled through the mass and streamed down their faces and saturated them to the skin. After a night passed in this position, during which they conld hear the groans <strong>of</strong> their unfortunate companion, they* were rescued by their fellow-villagers without other injuries than a few bruises <strong>of</strong> no importance. As for poor Aldham his case was much worse. Having been seated near the entrance <strong>of</strong> the cave, nnder the ro<strong>of</strong> from which no portion <strong>of</strong> the earth had been removed, he had been completely buried in the chalk, the pressure being to some extent increased by the body <strong>of</strong> the tree. To the circumstance that chalk fractures in pieces and not in powder it was owing that he was dug out alive; had it been earth he must have hetn stifled. Though, however, he was yet alive when he was placed on a hurdle and carried to his cot tage, he received such severe internal injuries that the doctor, who had been sent for in anticipation, after a very brief examination, pronounced his case hopeless. Still he lingered on day after day, with the shadow <strong>of</strong> the hand <strong>of</strong> death on his face and the point <strong>of</strong> his dart pressing against his breast. Meanwhile his <strong>part</strong>ners had recovered their health and strength and were able to work again. I have'now to relate a very extraordinary oc currence which forms <strong>part</strong> <strong>of</strong> this painful history. The three men whose names t have mentioned, with ten others, formed a club, which combined for numerous beneficial purposes. Their meetings were held on a certain evening every week in a little house in a garden belonging to a maltster, who was one <strong>of</strong> the members <strong>of</strong> the club. The en trance to this garden was through his house, or through a door opening into the fields, <strong>of</strong> which each member had a key. On the fifth evening after the accident they were assembled as usual. Some <strong>of</strong> them were smoking, and had jugs <strong>of</strong> beer before them, hut all were unusually grave and silent, for Whitmead and Anscombe, who were present, had called on their suffering <strong>part</strong>ner on their way down and found him speechless and at the point <strong>of</strong> death. While they were sitting thus, expecting every instant to hear the passing-bell tell <strong>of</strong> his soul's de<strong>part</strong>ure, the figure <strong>of</strong> their friend, with no clothing except a shirt upon him, appeared in the room. It looked about for an in stant, and then sat down in a vacant chair near the door. Not doubting that it was the apparition <strong>of</strong> their friend, and not a being <strong>of</strong> fiesh and blood, no one dared to speak. The figure sat still for eome minutes without speaking, quite regardless <strong>of</strong> every thing around, then repeating in a low monotonous tone, "He hath turned the shadow <strong>of</strong> death into the morning," it rose, glided noiselessly from the room, and disappeared through the door opening into the fields. It is not known, nor is it possible to form an idea with any certainty, how many miiyites elapsed before any <strong>of</strong> those present had so far re covered their self-possession as to open the door and look out; but when the}- did, the figure was not visible, though the}' could see for some distance along the path leading in the direction <strong>of</strong> Aldham's house. After exchanging a. few remarks, Whit mead, Anscombe, and another, named Jennings, agreed to go to their friend's house and ascertain his condition; bnt before they returned the tol'ing <strong>of</strong> the church bell informed those who remained be hind that Aldham had ceased to exist. The in formation which the three brought back, was, that Aldham had diedat twenty minntes past six o'clock; upon which one <strong>of</strong> the <strong>part</strong>y averred that this was the very time when tho figure entered the room, as he had his watch in his hand at the moment for the purpose <strong>of</strong> showing his neighbor the time—an asser tion which his neighbor confirmed. 695 -v The narrative <strong>of</strong> Jacob Hirzig, a Jew, who was buried alive iu a poisoned well. In the year 5108, which in the European cal endar is 1348, a Jewish physician named Balavig- nus, who dwelt at Thonou, near Chillon, not hav ing the fear <strong>of</strong> the Most Hoi}- One before his eyes, did, nnder the influence <strong>of</strong> torture, he having been racked several times, and being, moreover, threat ened with other and more grievons torments, con fess that he had received from"Kabbi Jacob Hirzig, through the hands <strong>of</strong> a Jewish boy, a packet <strong>of</strong> poison, which he was directed to throw into the principal wells <strong>of</strong> the town in which he lived, which injunction he had obeyed. This pretended confession, which he made in the madness caused hy intense suffering, was afterward read over to him, and ho was made to swear to its truth on the Law. Subsequently, while still insane, he con fessed, or was said to have confessed, that ho had thrown a portion <strong>of</strong> the poison into » certain well, and that he had concealed another portion tied np iu a piece <strong>of</strong> rag beneath the stones on the brink. Being taken to this well, and compelled to search among the stones, he, in the presence <strong>of</strong> the magis trate and other <strong>of</strong> the mnnicipal authorities, drew out a piece <strong>of</strong> rag, which on being opened was found to contain a red and black powder mingled together. The mob <strong>of</strong> Christians then present did thereupon seize a certain renegade Jew, who had de<strong>part</strong>ed from the religion <strong>of</strong> his forefathers, and forcing the magistrate to put a small quantity <strong>of</strong> the powder into a vessel, they filled it with water and compelled the Jew to swallow it, who was im mediately smitten with death and died in great agony within an hour—a most just punishment for hi! former apostasy. As for Balavignus he was taken back to prisorl, and subsequently put to death with great cruelty. On the day following the said discovery <strong>of</strong> the poison, in the evening, being the eve <strong>of</strong> the Sab bath, and my wife, Esther, having just kindled the lights, according to the custom <strong>of</strong> our people, the magistrate <strong>of</strong> the town <strong>of</strong> Chillon, attended by his <strong>of</strong>ficers, rode up to the door <strong>of</strong> my dwelling, dis- monnted, and entered therein. They first seized roe, and then bound my arms together behind my back with great cruelty, so that the blood forced :ts way beneath my nails and dropped from ilic ends <strong>of</strong> my fingers to the ground. They next searched every corner <strong>of</strong> my honse, trying by blows and threats to make my wife and daughter, Rebec ca, reveal the secret hiding-place in which I kept my poisons. My heart was rent ut the sight <strong>of</strong> the sufferings and indignities they were made to un dergo, bnt I was powerless to help them, and I could only beseech them to bear patiently the trials to which they were subjected. After searching every <strong>part</strong> <strong>of</strong> my house, and finding nothing <strong>of</strong> what they were in search, I was dragged away to prison. The next day the magistrate and other <strong>of</strong>ficials came to me in my cell, and read to me the confes sion <strong>of</strong> Balavignus, concerning which they put to me many qnestions. I denied that I had sent any poison to him, or had ever thought <strong>of</strong> so doing, or that I had ever heard any <strong>of</strong> our people even speak <strong>of</strong> such a thing. Finding that I continued firm in My denial, and that t was prepared to swear on the Five Books <strong>of</strong> Moses that I knew nothing <strong>of</strong> any plot for poisoning the wells, I was ordered to be racked till I should be tortured into making confession <strong>of</strong> a falsehood. Four times were my limbs torn asunder hy that hellish invention, till I conld feel no longer, after which I was left for eleven days on the fioor <strong>of</strong> my dungeon undisturbed. On the twelfth day I was taken from prison to the place <strong>of</strong> execution, to witness the murder <strong>of</strong> my countryman, Solomon Chomer, a man <strong>of</strong> wonderful knowledge, and greatly learned in the philosophy <strong>of</strong> the Egyptians aud Chaldeans. He, too, had been sentenced to die for the same crime witli which I was charged, and I was placed near him to be a witness <strong>of</strong> his sufferings. Together we called on the God <strong>of</strong> our forefathers fd» fortitudej andj ven- lyj the patience with whic^i he bore the cruel tor tures to which he was subjected could only have been born <strong>of</strong> insensibility. He was stretched on a wheel, and after his arms and legs had been broken in sundry places by the bar <strong>of</strong> l,he executioner, he was unbound and laid on the ground, his body folded back on his legs so that his head rested on his heels. He was again questioned touching the crime with which he was charged, but he gave no answer; whereupon he was laid on the wood which had been prepared for the purpose, the fire was kin dled, and his spirit rose with the smoke which as- ceuded from the pile. I was beitlg taken hack to prison, my heart quaking with fear at the doom that was before me, when one cried " Let ns not suffer this Jew to es cape ns," and another, "Let us throw him in the well he poisoned for us." Then there was a great cry, and much tumult, and I was taken from the <strong>of</strong>ficers and dragged to a well outside the town iu which the poison had been found and hurled there in—the body <strong>of</strong> the apostate Jew, which had lain there unburied, being cast down upon me. The water reached above my shoulders when I stood •pon my feet, and Iwas forced to stand on the tips my toes to keep my mouth above water. Stand- gthus, with my fiesh torn, bruised, and bleeding, . heard the planks laid across the top <strong>of</strong> the well, and stones thrown on these, and then all was si- ' lent, and I was left to die an agonizing.death. After a while I felt that my feet were sinking deeper in the sand and gravel, and I had to cling to the sides <strong>of</strong> the well to keep myself from instant death. I had been in this position several hours when I heard a noise above me as though one were re moving the stones, then n voice, which was that <strong>of</strong> my wife, Esther, calling my name. My heart leaped within me at the sound <strong>of</strong> her voice, and I answered joyfully, upon which she bade mo be <strong>of</strong> gtiod cheer. Presently she called again, and told me to tie the rope she was letting down about my body. I had much difficulty in doing this, because I was forced to loosen my hold and suffer myself to sink below the water till it forced itself beneath my eyelids. I succeeded at last in tying the cord tightly beneath my armpits, and was then drawn up to the well's month, and laid on the grass by my beloved wife and daughter. While I was slow ly recovering the use <strong>of</strong> my limbs, which had been much weakened by the torments I had undergone, they occupied themselves in restoring the planks and stones to their places. When this had been done, we left the spot while it was yet dark, and I hid myself in a tree in a wood near my honse, to which place Rebecca brought me food. Our es cape to Poland was accomplished with great diffi culty and much suffering. WHO MOST NEED OUR PITY? OH ! pity those whose lifeless hearts Have never ^n~»-n .•>. patriot's thrill; Who, though they hnve a mind and will, Lack courage now to net their <strong>part</strong>s. Yes, pity them! fcr where the power To rouse those feelings that remain, If Liberty has called in vain In this their Country's needful honr? They can not feel (who stand alo<strong>of</strong>) That glow <strong>of</strong> noble, inborn pride For which men barter all beside, And give the world their loyal pro<strong>of</strong>. Yes, pity them! the thronged Broadway, Where selfishness and fashion meet— The very stones beneath their feet Might boast <strong>of</strong> hearts as well as they-. SOLDIERS' DEAD-LETTERS. "WHY not Write Dead Soldier*' Letters at once ?" says a voice at my elbow. Only ont <strong>of</strong> respect to the old logical rule re quiring the perfect definition <strong>of</strong> a class to embrace all the individuals composing it. It is a sad truth that too many <strong>of</strong> these missives that have been wandering about in the mail-bags are the letters, and the last letters—the last written expression <strong>of</strong> thought or wish—<strong>of</strong> men who hove dared to die for their country. Many <strong>of</strong> these rough-looking, soiled, and torn envelopes now lying in the Dead- letter Office, after a fruitless journey in search <strong>of</strong> friends to read their contents, are filled with .strange tales <strong>of</strong> blood nnd battle, or breathe sentiments that should stir the very soul <strong>of</strong> patriotism, and fire the heart and nerve the arm <strong>of</strong> every man who perils his life in the cause <strong>of</strong> his country's honor. Outside, it is a shapeless and uninviting mass <strong>of</strong> worn and crumpled envelopes, soiled with the dust and. smoke <strong>of</strong> every camp and battle-field on the continent; within, are the thoughts, wishes, last words, and (lying prayers <strong>of</strong> those who have <strong>of</strong>fer ed their own lives to save the life <strong>of</strong> the nation. Up to the last <strong>of</strong> August soldiers' letters, writ ten from camps or head-quarfera, and containing no valuable inclosure", when returned from the lo cal post-<strong>of</strong>fices to the Dead-letter Office because they were "not called for," have been destroyed, because they could not, like ordinary letters, be returned to the writers. Armies are always upon the move, and the ten or twelve weeks that must expire between the date <strong>of</strong> a soldier's letter in cam p and its return to Washington as a " dead-letter" render any attempt to place it again in the hands <strong>of</strong> the writer as impossible as it is useless. The De<strong>part</strong>ment having once sent the letter to its place <strong>of</strong> destination, and advertised it there, has no legal authority to incur further trouble or expsnse in the matter. Hence the practice that obtained in the opening-room <strong>of</strong> the Dead-letter Office, <strong>of</strong> throw ing into the waste-basket all "dead-letters" con taining no valuable inclosnre, which had been writ ten by soldiers from camps or head-quarters. As the war progressed and great battles were fought, consecrating in history such names as Pea Ridge, Fort Donelson, Shiloh, Fair Oaks, and Malvern Hill, and marking the boundaries <strong>of</strong> each field <strong>of</strong> bloody strife with the tumuli <strong>of</strong> buried heroes, it came to be noticed that many* <strong>of</strong> the soldiers' let ters, written upon the eve or at the close <strong>of</strong> these fierce struggles for a nation's life, contained matter <strong>of</strong> the gravest interest to the friends and relatives at home. Some <strong>of</strong> these lost missives, containing the words <strong>of</strong> father, brother, son, or husband, who had gone'down in the storm <strong>of</strong> battle, or survived to tell the fate <strong>of</strong> other martyrs in the holy cause, and which had failed in the first effort to place them in the hands <strong>of</strong> the persons addressed, were rightly conceived to be <strong>of</strong> as much importance to the soldiers' friends as the letter inclosing a <strong>part</strong> <strong>of</strong> his pay to the wife and little ones at home. The snbject having attracted the attention <strong>of</strong> Mr. Zevely, the Third Assistant Postmaster-Gen eral, who has charge <strong>of</strong> the Dead-letter Office, and whose hand is as open as his heart is warm in the canse <strong>of</strong> aiding the soldier in the field and his family at home, he at once determined to have this class <strong>of</strong> dead-letters examined by a competent clerk, and all that were likely to be <strong>of</strong> interest or importance again forwarded to the post-<strong>of</strong>fices orig inally addressed. As the law authorized no addi tional expense for such an enterprise, one <strong>of</strong> the clerks volunteered to perform the work ont <strong>of</strong><strong>of</strong>fice- honrs; and so a second effort is being made to get these soldiers' letters into the hands <strong>of</strong> their friends. An interview with the clerk who spends his evenings and mornings in this work bronght me to a knowledge <strong>of</strong> the enterprise, and I write this sketch with the purpose <strong>of</strong> bringing the matter to public notice, and thus to aid in getting these lost letters into the hands <strong>of</strong> those for whom they were intended. I learn from the gentleman who has charge <strong>of</strong> the work that four or five hundred letters a day <strong>of</strong> this class come into the Dead-letter Office. As they are opened, all soldiers' letters containing no valuable iuclosnre are placed in his hands, and after <strong>of</strong>fice-hours he proceeds to examine them, and select such as can be again sent to the local post-<strong>of</strong>fices with some prospect <strong>of</strong> reaching the par ties addressed. Each letter thus re-sent is entered upon a blank form addressed to the postmaster, nnd charging him to use "all diligence to secure its delivery." This form contains not only the name <strong>of</strong> the person addressed on the envelope, but the name <strong>of</strong> the writer and <strong>of</strong> the place where the letter was dated. This schedule, or catalogue <strong>of</strong> letters, is to be conspicuously posted for one month, and any letters upon it that are not delivered in that time are to be returned to the Dead-letter Of- 1 fice at Washington, to be destroyed. The whole thing is a work <strong>of</strong> grace on the <strong>part</strong> <strong>of</strong> the Post- master-Gener.il, there being no charge made for the second transportation <strong>of</strong> the letters or their de livery at the local post-<strong>of</strong>ficer. This being the case, it is proper to f d, for the benefit <strong>of</strong> the De <strong>part</strong>ment, nml to s ve people from unnecessary trouble, that it is c ite useless to address inquiries to any one in Hi' General Post-<strong>of</strong>lice respecting letters <strong>of</strong> this description. No record is kept <strong>of</strong> them, and those not re-sent are immediately de stroyed. Any one looking for such a letter, known to have been advertised at a local post-<strong>of</strong>fice and returned as " dead'' to Washington, should watrh the posted catalogue <strong>of</strong> " Soldiers' letters," which, for the smaller <strong>of</strong>fices, is forwarded at the close <strong>of</strong> each month, and once a week or fortnight to the large city <strong>of</strong>fices. Witli a proper care not to violate the confidence and privacy peculiarly strict in this <strong>of</strong>fice, I have been allowed to notice the character <strong>of</strong> some <strong>of</strong> these letters. Here is one written by T. F. H., Lieutenant-Colonel Fifth Ohio Ca\alry, and very fully and carefully directed, yet it has failed to reach its destination; and lest a second effort should prove as fruitless as the first, 1 am permitted to mnke an extract, in the hope that it may reach the eyes <strong>of</strong> the bereaved parents. The letter is written from Zanesville, Ohio, nnder date <strong>of</strong> May 27th, and addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Elliott, Baley ville, near Minneapolis, Minnesota, and reads thus: the ci cuing <strong>of</strong> Monday, April 7, 1S62, abont five o'clock, after my regiment had been halted in its pursuit <strong>of</strong> the fleeing horded <strong>of</strong> rebels, I rode slowly nround the field, meditating ou the result <strong>of</strong> that bloody action [Shiloh], and observing the effect <strong>of</strong> the " bolts <strong>of</strong> war" on tbe dead bodies which covered the ground. Va rious we -e tbe attitude* and expressions <strong>of</strong> the fallen heroes- yet ae I rode along one smooth-faced Lid, whose fcatur . were lit up by a smile, BO attracted and riveted my fi tention as to cause me to dismount and examine him. lUs uniform wan neat as an old soldier's, bis brf • tons polished, his person clean, his hair well combed, ly Ing squarely on Ins back, blti fuce toward the enemy his wounds in front, from which the last life-drops weru slowly ebbing, his bunds cixwsed on his breast, and H peaceful, heavenly smile renting on hie marble features. I almost envied bin fat* as I thought, " How rleep the brave who liuk to test, D.V nil their country'! wn&ei Malt' R.v fairy hands their knell iff rung, By fornm uuw en their dlriga U ming; lju! Honor ronw, a pilgrim gray. To hleai the turf lhat wraiH their clav. And Freedom shall a lyliifc repair To dwell a weepinc hermit there 1" I asked the by-etimderc who tlmt lad was. So one conld tell. Hoping to find pome mark on bis clothing by which I could distinguish him, T unbuttoned hut roundabout, and in the breast pocket found a IliMe, on the fly-leif <strong>of</strong> whlrlt was an inscription by hi* mother to "John Elllott." In the same pocket was a letter from his mother, and one he had written to his uncle, both dabbled with blood. Pleased with getting these data from uhlrlt to trncc IIH family, I determined to preserve th» Bible and letters nnd send them to you. I hn\e since regretted that I did not examine nil hli pockets and save whatcicr may have been In them: but my time was ehort, and I felt that tbe Bible he had ea faithfully carried would be trea«nre enoiiifh fur yon, nnd in the buriy <strong>of</strong> the moment I did not think to look for nny thing else. lib remains received decent sepnltnre thet night, nnd he row sleeps in a soldier's grave. And now, my dear friends, I would have written to you weeks ngo, but was long sick iu camp, van sent to Ohio low with fever, nnd am but just able to begin to sit up. Yon hnve doubtless wept over your dead boy. No hu man sympathy could assuage your grief. Yet He wbo guides and governs the universe <strong>of</strong> man and matter, I doubt not, hn-i thrown around you " everlasting arms," and enpported your faint, bereft, and bleeding hearts. After a while, wheu time shall hnve healed the wounds that war has inflicted, It will be a heritage <strong>of</strong> glory for you to reflect that your boy died in the cause <strong>of</strong> human right* nnd to save the life <strong>of</strong> a great uation; and you can with righteous pride boa»t Hint he fell In the thicken <strong>of</strong> the fight, irith dead rebels all around him, his face to the foe, and in the "very forefront <strong>of</strong> the battle." He died a young hero nnd mnrtyr in the holy cause <strong>of</strong> freedom, and Fllj.ih riding up the heaiens in u chariot <strong>of</strong> fire had not a prouder entrance to the Celestial City than your boy. Let your heart! rejoice that there li one more waiting to welcome you back to the "shining shore." Here is a brief extract from the letter <strong>of</strong> a sur geon on the Peninsula to a friend at home: Almost the first one I came to was our poor little friend Dick, tbe bright-eyed but pile-faced drummer boy, who broke from the warm embrace <strong>of</strong> his mother and rushed into the wild utorm <strong>of</strong> war nt the first cnll to arms. He wns still alive, nnd able to speak in a low voice. I raised his h>ad and gave him some Muter. He smiled his thank", and paid, "Doctor, tell mother I wam't afraid to die. Tell brother Jimmy he can hnve my pony; nnd Sis can have nil my books; nnd they mustn't cry about, me, for I think I have done right. And take the drum to them; and bury this little flag u ith me—and that's all 1" And that was all; and a moment afterward the spirit <strong>of</strong> the youug hero went np to heaveu. Here is a letter from a wife to her husband in the Peninsular army. It arrived two late, and is on its way back to the writer, with the simple in dorsement on the envelope, by an <strong>of</strong>ficer <strong>of</strong> his reg iment : " Was killed yesterday in the battle <strong>of</strong> Malvern Hill." These are a few examples <strong>of</strong> \vhat may be found in the "Soldiers' Dead-letters;" and if local post masters will manifest the same disposition exhib ited in the action <strong>of</strong> the De<strong>part</strong>ment at Washing ton, thousands <strong>of</strong> these lost epistles will find their way to the rightful owners, and serve to comfort and console many a bereaved and breaking heart field, and along the right base the tortuous ro-:... In fruit <strong>of</strong> the enemy's right there Is a narrow valley <strong>of</strong> men dow-land, after descending which jou come iuto n. skirt woods. Facing the enemy's centre there wu a corn field, which extended, a little broken, for several hundred yard back to the woods. Facing the stone fence Is a stretch <strong>of</strong> mirte land, gently sloping parallel with the fence to the woodf. Behind the fence there is heavy timber. The rebels were commanded by their chosen and favorite gen erals. Bragg was on the field in person, and assumed general command. Btickner led the centre, Hardee the right, and Polk the left wing. -General Cbeatham bad the reserve, while General Brown and a host <strong>of</strong> other Brig- nilien cheered and led on their commands. This General Brown is the eame Colonel Brown who commanded the Third Tennessee Regiment at Fort Donelsnn, and who, «ith Jliiokner, surrendered, and served a t«rm at Fort Warren. Since his exchange he has received a Brigadier- General's commission. He Is, I believe, a nephew <strong>of</strong> Niel S. Brown, <strong>of</strong> Tennessee. So much for tbe position <strong>of</strong> the enemy. Now let us look at enr own. The appi-oncli <strong>of</strong> Gilbert's Corps, with M-Cook, ROMMU, and Mltchell, vea well knov n to tjie rebels. Our men had made forced larches through heat and dust, over a rough road, and 'Ji/ough a country utterly destitute <strong>of</strong> water. Their arrlr.il in the morning was hailed by a shell from the enemy'., battery. Notwithstanding the formidable array b:1 re us, and notwithstanding the advaptages <strong>of</strong> position the enemy had, our men prepared for action. Harris' buttery «as planted on our left, Loomla's on the right, -.ith Faraon's and Slmonton's between the two. M*Cor1 w THE BATTLE OF PERRYVILLE. ON page 689 we give a picture <strong>of</strong> the little town <strong>of</strong> PEBBYVII.LE, KENTUCKY, where M'Cook fought the rebel army on 8th; and on page 700 n picture <strong>of</strong> THE BATTLE ; both from sketches by our special artist, Mr. H. Mosler. Ferry villc is n small place <strong>of</strong> about oOO inhabitants. It is now entirely evac uated by the residents, and several <strong>of</strong> the houses have been destroyed by Ufe shells. Of the battle a Times correspondent gives the following account: When M'Couk and Rousseau appeared before the tonii they found the immcne'u forces <strong>of</strong> the enemy most nA\ uu- tageously posted to meet them. The rebels were posted on a long range <strong>of</strong> hills, extending in a crescent form from north to west, the termini <strong>of</strong> the crescent being almost due north and due weet, with Its Inner centre precisely northwest. Tills semicircular range <strong>of</strong> hills formed their advance, and on these liilhi the rebel generals exhorted their soldiers to dye tbeir colors deep in the blood <strong>of</strong> the enemy rather than surrender them. There hills arc about a mile and a half from Fcrryvllle. Behind this range <strong>of</strong> hills, and between them and the Big Spring, there are two other high hills, along the left base <strong>of</strong> Which la a corn- I thousand strong. was chief In command on the field, and Rousseau Beco1 -'. General Jackson, with bis brigade, wu posted on tin .-ft, Ruineaii In the centre, while the right was led 1'v G -ral Mitchell. We opened upon the rebels at I o'clock • .•, on the Stli. The most »>nKuinary battle <strong>of</strong> the war Wimenced. The ei|emy opened all their batteries upon .'. Soon the whole rebel artillery let their gune loose upon ig. Tlie hills shook to their base, as one livid sheet <strong>of</strong> 'lame poured across them. Shell would whiz through the air, fall nt the point <strong>of</strong> their aim and burst, dealing death all nronnd. Solid shot went screaming across the field, cutting great gap.i through the ranks. Mingling with the terrific roar <strong>of</strong> cannon, now the shrill hiss, <strong>of</strong> grape and canister, thinning out tbe troops—literally mowing them down, mid piling them in mangled swaths over the field and across the hills. Next come the crasb <strong>of</strong> musketry, quick, loud, and Incessant. The nolie <strong>of</strong> these guns blend ed with that <strong>of</strong> the artillery In tumultuous roar. Never* perhftpi?, was there a battle fought at BO short a range, and never were fires so murderous and destructive. The battle commenced at 1 o'clock and had reached its height at 3. 1'or an hour now it was a succession <strong>of</strong> advances and re pulses, first one «lde advancing and tben falling back be fore their infuriated pursuers. Ou the right a desperate attempt was made to flank the reinforcing'columns <strong>of</strong> M'Cook, which waB for R time <strong>part</strong>ially mcceuful, acme <strong>of</strong> the new regiments wavering and staggering under tbe galling cixw-fire* poured upon them. The scene was ter- riflc. Dense smoke rolled all over the field, while tbe hill* were literally enveloped in sheets <strong>of</strong> fire. The thunder <strong>of</strong> eannon and the crash ot musketry can bs compared to no thing I have ever heard. The simultaneous falling and splitting <strong>of</strong> a thousand forest trees might perhaps be srnne- tliinj like it. Hiirris'ri Battery which, as stated, was posted .on our right, poured grape and canister into the rauks <strong>of</strong> the ad vancing rebels, and literally paved the elope with their dead bodies Yet, on and on come thess fierce rebels, over hca|iOTr dead <strong>of</strong> their own, to within forty yarde <strong>of</strong> that dcath-d? uling battery. Again and again would they recoil irith decimated ranks from the terrible machines <strong>of</strong> death. Hotel rained yet to take that battery, they charged down the slope and through the hollow, diagonally across, from toward the. centre, nnd there one <strong>of</strong> the regiments fupportinc it fell into confusion. Still the battery main tained its uround, right in the face <strong>of</strong> fearful odds; and again the rebels were driven back with fearful slaughter. Parson's. Hatter}', to the right <strong>of</strong> Harris's, in the mean time had been dealing destruction in the ranks <strong>of</strong> the foe. The enemy, in overwhelming numbers, and with determ ined exasperation, closed in upon this battery and suc ceeded in capturing it. They subsequently eplked the gnu und cut. the wagon-wheels to pieces. In taking this bat tery the rebels lost fearfully, our men fighting like heroes against their superior advance. In the early <strong>part</strong> <strong>of</strong> the action, Genernl James P. Jackson was killed. He wa* coolly giving some order on the left. He and General Itoussean bad been iu conversation. Rousseau turned to ward the centre, nnd Jackson deliberately lighted a cigar; just us he hud lighted it, n ball from the enemy struck him, killing him almost instantly, fcckson was a mem ber <strong>of</strong> the National Congress from the Second District <strong>of</strong> Kentucky. He resigned his seat to draw his i Constitutional liberty. The nfttlon monrna no I trlot; the array uo braverjojdier. About this time, ajio, Colonel Terrell, one <strong>of</strong> tHpravest and meat ikillful <strong>of</strong>fi cers <strong>of</strong> the service, fell mortally wounded, while engaged in pointing a battery under fire <strong>of</strong> tbe enemy. The First Wisconsin, Colonel Starkweather, had engaged tbe First Tennessee rebel regiment on the left, and warm work was going on. The ground was sharply and gallantly con tented for houiF, with apparently no decisive results, the fire <strong>of</strong> the Firrt AViscon^in thinning the ranks <strong>of</strong> the enemy at eiery round. The Twenty-third Indiana, toward the centre, covered itself with honors. Their flag was planted near the centre ot tin: field, und the regiment was raked by the crescent- pimped batterie: and ciw-flres from tbe rebebt. Their ammunition gave ont, and they heroically threw them selves upon their faces, the balls <strong>of</strong> the enemy passing over them in .1 perfect shower. This regiment suffered severe ly, one-third <strong>of</strong> it- men being killed or disabled. Thair flag wns riddled into strings and Phrcds, and Its staff splintered by the enemy's bullets. Yi t they kept it war- iug. and preserve its torn fragment* as a memorial <strong>of</strong> their bravery upon that bloody day. M*Cook and Ronsseau both pronounced this n much more hotly-contested fight, and the fires much ecverer Hum they were at nny time at Shilob. The Twenty-third Indiana was now happily re lieved. Farther to the right the immortal Tenth Ohio, <strong>of</strong> the Scienteenlh Bilgide, nnder Colonel Lytle, who wai Acting Brigadier, stood tbelr ground firmly for hours In a perfei-t ruin-storm <strong>of</strong> shot and shell. At length their lead er, the high-ponied and heroic I*ytle, fell dangerously Hounded. The Tenth Ohio was now withdrawn. Tbe battcrv <strong>of</strong> CapUIn Loomts, which had all day piled the en emy in heaps, was now threatened by the enemy, who were throwing their dense columns forward with a view <strong>of</strong> sur rounding and rapturing It. The battery was withdrawn toward the wood, bnt continued to hurl its leaden death- messages at the enemy. A p»rt <strong>of</strong> Gilbert's command now came superbly into action on the left, driving the en emy before them, though suffering heavily from the fire poured upon them from the stone fence. General Webster was in the mean time killed, us was also Colonel Jouett, <strong>of</strong> the Fifteenth Kentucky. The first advantage gained by the enemy in the centre was by one <strong>of</strong> those acts <strong>of</strong> perfidy which thrj have nevet been slow to exhibit. A rebel Colonel, with National tinVorm on, advanced along to the centre, where the brave Indianhuu were exposed, and shouted, " Hurrah for the old Header boys I" He was met as n comrade, and by deception £he rebels were permitted to advance to within a few yards <strong>of</strong> our men. A most unexpected and murderous fire was poured upon us from two aides, without our regiment even returning it. The Indiana boys were <strong>of</strong> course stunned and thrown into tem porary confusion. The battle having raged fiercely now for five hours, and the men being exhausted with slaugh ter, just M night began to conceal the field <strong>of</strong> death and <strong>of</strong> blood, the combatants ceased their awful wot*. Our troops, fell bock a ehort distance under cover <strong>of</strong> the woods, worn and exhausted with tluir hot day's work. A port l<strong>of</strong>t <strong>of</strong> the rebels held possession <strong>of</strong> the larger <strong>part</strong> <strong>of</strong> the bat tle-field. We had but twelve thousand troops on the field, which contended with the combined rebel force?, fully forty
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