severely criticised in the regiment for it that night and the next day; little, however, was ever said about it in the reports. Whether Kilpatrick acted under superior orders or on his own initiative, I never learned.

A few minutes after the regiment had retired a short distance, Sergeant Griswold came up and reported to Kilpatrick in my hearing that the enemy were advancing their lines, that our wounded were being captured, and that Lieutenant Compton of my company had been killed, and he showed where a bullet had passed through the collar of his coat as he wheeled when asked to surrender. Kilpatrick called for somebody to go with him as an orderly, as he wanted to find General Bayard and General McDowell. This I did, holding his horse while he was in conference with these generals that night.

The next morning we recovered the body of Lieutenant Compton, of whom we were very fond, and we succeeded in making a coffin out of three cracker-boxes from which we took out the ends; wrapping him in a blanket we buried him in this cracker-box coffin at the corner of the old stone house on the Centerville Pike. His friends subsequently recovered his remains. We all felt rather blue over the loss of comrades in the affair of the night before, which had seemed to us so needless.

Among the pathetic incidents of that morning was one which indicated the unselfish heroism of a young soldier. Early in the day some of our men were looking over the battlefield of the night before for missing comrades, and one, I remember, spoke of having found a young boy, apparently not over eighteen years of age, lying with his shattered leg in a pool of blood. My comrade spoke to him saying, "I will go and get somebody to help carry you off," whereupon, the wounded boy faintly remarked: "I do not think you can do me any good, but during the night I heard groans coming from over the hill yonder, and I think if you go there you may be able to save some one; but if you will give me a drink of water I will be much obliged." The man gave his canteen to the wounded boy and started off for help. On his return he found the boy, with the canteen clasped in his hands, dead.

MAJOR GENERAL JUDSON KILPATRICK

During the morning the armies were getting in position for the final struggle of the afternoon of that day, which, I think, was the thirty-first of August. Our regiment was lying in column of fours awaiting orders. That afternoon, with a view to saving our horses from the effect of shells dropping near us, Kilpatrick got permission to move the column to the right a little, so as to be out of range. While we were making this movement he happened to be riding alongside of me, I being in the ranks, when a staff-officer approached and greeted him, evidently some friend that he had known at West Point or in the regular army. This officer leaned forward and said in an earnest manner, "Whose cavalry is this?" Kilpatrick told him it was his. I then heard him say, "General Porter," meaning Fitz-John Porter, "is fearful that there is going to be a break. I wish you would deploy your cavalry in the rear of our lines and do not allow a man to pass through unless he is wounded." Whereupon Kilpatrick gave the order "By fours, left about wheel," and moved the regiment left in front and then into line, with the men at intervals in close skirmishing order. We no sooner had gotten into line and advanced toward the woods in which Fitz-John Porter's corps was, on the left of our army, than I heard the most terrific crashes of artillery and then the rattle of musketry. This was Longstreet's corps opening on us. In a few moments Porter's men came swarming out of the woods. After them came the Confederates, with their batteries close up with their infantry. Several times I saw our regiments rally, but they were completely overpowered and swept away, resistance being apparently impossible. It was this attack of Longstreet's with a superior force which Porter had predicted and which General Pope had refused to believe possible, which resulted in the crushing of the left of our army, and the defeat of General Pope at the second battle of Bull Run.

Having overheard the anxious message of General Porter's staff-officer to Colonel Kilpatrick, I assumed that it was my duty to carry out instructions literally, that is, I tried to stop every man I could from passing to the rear. When all our guns at that part of the field had limbered up, except those of one regular battery, I met a squad of men with a major making for the rear. I rode up and told them to go and lie down beside this battery until I could get more men to act as a support. He demurred, stating that it was no use, and at my remonstrating with him, one of his men, an Irishman, spoke up and said, "Who the divil are you to be talking that way to our officer?" However, the major and his squad went with me and lay down alongside the battery, when I started for another squad. I had gone but a few rods when the major got up and went over the hill with his men. In the light of what I learned afterwards, the major and those who had seen fighting on the Peninsula had a better idea of the proper thing to do than I did with my boyish inexperience; for that was no place for them to remain at that time.

I then discovered that my regiment had withdrawn. When I rode up to the commander of this battery, as he was limbering up his guns to retire, the enemy being almost up to him, and told him that I had been instructed to keep back stragglers, and asked him what I had better do, he smiled and replied, "The best thing you can do is to get out of here." I then proposed to stay with him until I found General Bayard. Pretty soon I met General Pope with his staff, and subsequently General Bayard, who commanded our brigade. Riding up to the latter I asked him if he knew where my regiment was. He turned and inquired where certain members of his staff and orderlies were, and on being told that some had had their horses shot, and reasons being given for the absence of others, he said, "You stay with me." I then rode with him over to the right, to the railroad cut, where Sigel's men had been fighting. I well recall how angry General Bayard was, talking to himself and shaking his fist, evidently in a rage at the bad management which had resulted in the defeat of our army. About ten o'clock that night Major Henry E. Davies of my regiment reported to General Bayard where the regiment was, and asked for instructions. It was back somewhere on the Centerville pike. I then asked the General if I might go back with Major Davies, as my little gray horse had only one shoe on, to which he consented.

The next day the regiment marched to Alexandria and reached the hills behind that town at night during a terrific rainstorm. I succeeded in getting into a barn, where I slept soundly in my wet clothes until the sun was up the following morning. I well remember the sensation when I awoke and saw the dome of the Capitol at Washington in the distance.

Going into the town I got weighed in front of a sutler's tent, and, to my surprise, I had gained five pounds since I had enlisted six weeks before.

CHAPTER IV

At this time the regiment had one hundred and fifty-two men, as I recall it, present for duty; there were eleven men and no officers in my company. We were ordered to Ball's Cross Road to refit, where we got new clothing and horses; a number of recruits were sent to us, and some