night, thinking it best to keep with the regiment, we took quarters in the garret of a house, with the rest of our company. We were ordered to lie upon our arms, keep quiet, and be ready for action at a moment's warning. Towards morning our pickets had a skirmish with the enemy. We were aroused, but the firing, which was quite rapid for awhile, ceased, and we turned in again. In the morning we arose, and were privileged in having another day of rest. This night, as soon as it became dark, the evacuation of the city commenced. This fact we were all of us ignorant of at the time, and from the disposition of the regiment, supposed we had more fighting to do. At dusk we were formed in line, and as soon as it became dark moved down the city, taking the same street we did on the morning of the battle. We ascended the same steep hill, and proceeded quietly to the front. This made some of us catch our breath, as we thought of what we had already passed through while on the same road. Just inside our pickets, and under cover of a slight eminence, we laid ourselves down. A detail of men was made from the regiment, for picks and shovels, and upon the arrival of these, the whole front rank were called upon, and proceeding to the top of the eminence, commenced throwing up an entrenchment. This, we afterwards learned, was to deceive the enemy, making them think we intended holding the position. About twelve o'clock the front ranks were called in, and forming in line, we quickly and as noiselessly as possible hurried into the city again. It was evident enough to us as soon as we entered the city that it was being evacuated. When we left, a few hours before, the streets were full of soldiers, regiment after regiment, and battery after battery; now hardly a man was to be seen as we passed through the streets. The hurried tramp of men and horses in the direction of the pontoon bridges told us our destination. We hurried along, and at one o'clock the morning of the 16th recrossed the bridge, passed up the hill, and proceeded to our camp, where we left our luggage the morning of the 12th. Our major, whom I had not seen since the fight, suddenly appeared upon our arrival in camp, and taking charge of the regiment, placed them in position, giving off orders in a loud tone of voice, which assured us that though severely wounded, he was fast convalescing. The next day I saw the major again. I could not discover that he was hurt at all from his appearance; I think he bore up remarkably well. Since then, I noticed at the inspection, and in the presence of the brigadier-general, he limped, and seemed quite lame. I could not help thinking of our able major, who endures his sufferings without a murmur, though severely wounded, and contrasting this self-sacrificing spirit with some I hear of who, though loudly defiant, and anxious to lead their men against the enemy, were known to have run from the field in a "Devil take the hindmost" style, reminding me of a passage in Shakspeare—a piece of advice suited to their case—to wit,—