by division front. The Johnnies came out of the woods in our front with the apparent determination to drive us back; but grape and canister, accompanied by musketry, drove them back. They did not appear again that day. This was May 4th. The enemy contented themselves with annoying us with their sharpshooters, located in trees, in woods, in our front. Our officers concluded to teach them better manners than to kill men in this quiet and barbarous way. Accordingly, orders were given to deploy the 4th Michigan as skirmishers, and clear the wood, which was done in fine style, and at a double quick. I saw a rebel sharp shooter, located in a tree some sixty feet from the ground, he had a telescope rifle, and on his head an old plug hat. He was shot, and came tumbling to the earth. He struck the ground straight out. He looked to be nine feet long, in his descent to the ground.

The line swept on, driving all before it. We soon struck Rebel works, composed of logs. In front was a ravine. As the Johnnys went up the incline, and over the works, we landed in the ravine. This saved us, as they could not fire to any advantage, while their men were ready to break their necks to get out of our way. They fired a tremendous volley over our heads; our bugle sounded the “recall,” and then we proceeded to “git”—“the Devil take the hindermost.” Now, I was considered a smart runner, but could not gain an inch on the man ahead of me. On we went. We could hear the swish of cannister in our rear, but on we went. The 9th Massachusetts was sent after us as a support. It had halted half way and laid down. We passed over them in our flight. The Rebels soon followed up, and when in range of the guns of the 9th, they arose, and delivered their fire, which sent the survivors flying to their works. Thus ended the most exciting race of my life. I never shall forget it. It was amusing to. Colonel Welch, of the 16th Michigan, felt slighted because his Regiment was not selected for the job. I told him I was sorry, as I was willing he should have all the honor that would accrue to me. I was not very proud of such chances.

The army withdrew to the north bank of the Rappahannock. The 4th Michigan, 14th New York, 9th Massachusetts, 62d Pennsylvania, composing 2d Brigade, was rear guard to the United States Ford. The army moved in the night, leaving picket line established. Many were captured. After crossing the river, we encountered a sea of mud. The army slashed around until it arrived at our old camp at Falmouth. The 4th was camped at Stoneman’s Switch. We remained there until May 26th, when it, the 4th, was ordered to Kelly’s Ford, for guard duty, where it remained until the 13th of June, 1863. Here a laughable thing happened. The Johnnys were on one side of the river, and we occupied the other, doing picket; a long, lankey Johnny sat on the bank of the stream, poorly dressed, with his feet in the water; no firing at this time, by mutual consent. One of our smart Alicks sung out to him, “I say, Johnny Reb., why don’t you wear better clothes?” His reply was prompt, “We uns don’t wear our best clothes when we go to kill hogs.” Our Alick subsided. This man was shot soon after. It was a cowardly deed. The Regiment participated in the long and fatigueing march to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. On the way, at Aldie and Middleburg, it was detained in support of cavalry.

We passed on and across the Potomac ferry, at Edwards. On the way we saw plenty of evidence of the cavalry advance,—dead horses, accoutrements belonging to cavalry outfit. We arrived at Hanover, Pennsylvania, on the afternoon of July 1st. Rested and fed; then on to Gettysburg. Marched all night—a beautiful moon-light night. As we passed farm houses, the people came out with water and refreshments, handed us as we passed along foot-sore and tired. An Aide-de-camp came riding along, saying: “Boys, keep good courage, McClellan is in command of the army, again.” Instantly the space above was filled with the hats and caps of the gratified soldiers. They shouted and hollered, and kicked up their heels, and were frisky with the supposed good news. I mention this to show with what veneration Little Mac. was held by the Army of the Potomac. I knew this was untrue, myself, but it served its purpose as intended. Many a brave heart went down next day with that belief in his heart. On to Gettysburg. We arrived in sight of line of battle being formed, at 9 A. M., July 2nd. Lunched, and was then moved up near Round Top. Was halted again, and awaited the coming struggle. It came.

The regiment was formed in line of battle, with the brigade, and was moved nearer the battle going on in front of us, with other troops engaged. The regiment stood under fire at least a half hour before it became engaged, getting a large share of spent balls from the front. Soon the general commanding Division, Brown, said: “Boys, I want you to put in a few licks for Pennsylvania; the Buck-tails will go in on your left. Forward.” It was a relief to hear the order, “March.” We advanced into the maelstrom of Rebel bullets. By some oversight our right was exposed, and we had to contend with three to one. We held them until they made a fierce charge, charging our right and doubling it to the rear of our left. We were taken at a great disadvantage. I looked to our rear; our colors were there, and men rallying around them. Our colonel, H. H. Jeffords, was there, in the thickest of the struggle, calling on the boys to save the flag. They needed no urging; they fought like demons. Our colonel was killed—shot and then bayoneted. A brave man was killed by the hand of a traitor,—and many others, too, who were simple privates, but heroes for all that; every one of them who fell doing his duty, or imposed duty.

We had to fall back. The writer was here wounded, and the battle surged beyond him. Soon the enemy came, tearing back in retreat. They had struck the brave old 6th Army Corps, just arrived, and in time to save the day. The Rebels went back flying, with the 6th Corps men close after them. They had no time to scoop any of the wounded, as they had all they could attend to in getting out themselves. It was now dusk; the fierce struggle was over for the night. The struggle had been simply terrible; the carnage was awful; the fire incessant. Groans and oaths of the wounded were heard on every hand. Many would have recovered, had they had care. But it was impossible to reach all. The writer, with others, was loaded into an ambulance, at two o’clock in the morning of July 3d, and taken to an old house to the north, and east of the battle ground. Here were many wounded. Among those in the house was a Rebel Colonel, shot through the breast. He sat in the only chair in the house. He commanded a Louisiana Regiment, and was wounded early in the fight. I saw him lying on the ground, after the fight had surged by me. I think he died.

The 2d day of July, 1863, ended the writer’s service in the field. The 3d day of July was ushered in with an ominous quiet. No sound of cannon broke the stillness, until near ten o’clock, A. M., when mutterings of the awful strife, inaugurated later, began to be heard. Soon the din began. The voices of an hundred big mouthed guns began to vomit forth its death dealing missiles. The Infantry now began to put in its refrain; after a few spasmodic belchings, of the firing, the tremendous concussion of all arms became general. About five miles of line of battle could be seen from where us non-combatants lay. The whole line was ablaze. Firing was incessant. Salvos after salvos, of artillery belched forth. The air was full of flying missiles—death everywhere. Thus the strife continued all day—an awful day, too, for those who lay helpless in plain view. Charge after charge was made