stirred he would be shot, but he made the attempt. As soon as he raised himself, before he had taken a step, he was shot and instantly killed. Attention having been thus called to the spot, a confederate volley was fired into that clump of bushes. I saved myself by lying down behind the body of my dead comrade.

As the sun was dropping below the western horizon the Confederate rifle pits were captured. Hancock’s charge had succeeded. Fort Magruder fired its farewell shot; the Confederate rear guard was on its way to Richmond. The battle of Williamsburg was ended.

The next day, one of a group of Confederate prisoners declared there was one thing about that battle he could not understand. He said he was a sharp shooter; that he could hit a mark quite a distance away every time, and offered to prove it by actual demonstration. The thing he could not understand was—why he could not hit General Kearny the day before. He said he saw him plainly; knew he was a commanding officer, and that he deliberately shot at him six times. General Kearny was not touched, but the Captain who tried to persuade him not to expose himself as he did was shot through the heart and instantly killed by the side of the General.

An interval of time, a march through mud and water almost waist deep, brought us to Fair Oaks, within sight of Richmond. Heavy rains had made it almost impossible to ford the Chickahominy River which divided McClellan’s army. Seeing an advantage in this, General Lee ordered General Longstreet to attack the part of our army that had succeeded in crossing the river. General Casey’s division received the brunt of this attack. General Kearny’s division was held in reserve to support General Casey. We ate our dinner and then lay on our arms for some little time, just out of range, tracing the course of the action by listening to the firing and watching the increasing number of wounded making their way to the rear. To be thus held in reserve, expecting every moment to be called into action, is the supreme trial of a soldier’s courage. In those moments my heart became faint. But, when the bugle call was sounded calling us into action, all thought of self vanished. As eager as an eagle in pursuit of its prey, we went forward. Longstreet’s division was making a final charge. Casey’s men passed through our ranks as we formed a line between the contending forces. My Company had the regimental colors, defended by a detailed color guard of sixteen corporals. I was not of this guard, but was a corporal then, on the left of my Company next to the color guard. Our line was hardly formed when we received the Confederate charge. Firing was at short range. Fourteen out of the sixteen corporals composing the color guard were shot almost simultaneously; some killed; some wounded, but the colors did not fall.

I was on my knees in the front rank. The corporal on my left was shot in the head and fell across my legs. He spoke to me. I turned to look at him, and said—“I cannot stop work now to help you.” As I said this I was shot, the bullet entering squarely on my breast, cutting off the first shirt button below the collar. It passed through the bone, which turned its course to the right, and passed out between the ribs. I was in the act of loading my gun at its muzzle. I had the powder in. When hit my right arm fell. I tried three times to put the bullet in and finish loading, hoping to give the enemy one more shot. Finding I could not do it, I dropped my gun, unstrapped my cartridge box and crawled to the rear until I came to a cleared field where a battery was stationed firing over the heads of our men into the Confederate ranks. As I raised up to walk, a gunner motioned to me to step aside out of range and then continued firing. I walked around back of the battery and stopped to see it work and listen to the music of its roar.

The Confederate charge was stopped. My