Anecdotes, Poetry and Incidents of the War: North and South. 1860-1865.
Collected and Arranged by Frank Moore, published 1867

            A private of the Sixth Ohio regiment gave the following lively sketch of campaigning life:

            I must record a little adventure, pleasing and interesting, I had day before yesterday near Corinth. My last spoke about the continued firing between pickets. To such an extent was it carried, so incessant the firing day and night, that nothing short of a battle would alarm the camp, whereas a single gun should be the signal for the long-roll. But within the last three or four days a change for the better has taken place. On Monday out regiment was sent to the fortifications. It is the customs for the various battalions to take their turn in staying at the breastworks for twenty-four hours, forming a sort of reserve picket; and from each regiment so stationed two companies are sent to the outposts. It fell to our lot to go out. The company we relieved informed us that the rebels were disposed to be friendly; and with instructions from the field-officer not to fire unless fired upon, or the enemy attempted to advance, we set to work to watch the movements of our neighbors. The enemy’s pickets were in the edge of a wood about two hundred yards from us, and my post — one of the best for observation—similarly situated in another wood, with a level between us. For some time we looked closely without being able to see any of them, as they were disposed to be shy. We, on the contrary, exposed ourselves to their view, which had the effect of making them bolder; and occasionally a rebel passed from one tree to another and levelled a field-glass at us.

            I waved a handkerchief, which was answered from the other side, and tacitly understood to mean no firing. An hour later one of our Southern friends waved a handkerchief and shouted: “Meet me half-way.” “All right;” and arming myself with a newspaper profusely illustrated with pictures incidental to the capture of New Orleans, I started out. A rebel surgeon of the Third Tennessee was the individual who met me. He was dressed in a citizen’s suit of black, with military buttons, and the rank of captain designated, not by shoulder-straps, but by marks on the collar. After shaking hands and exchanging the customary salutations, we proceeded to talk about the war. He was at Fort Donelson, and made his escape the night before the surrender; spoke of the battle of Shiloh, at which he assisted; said it was their intention to have made the attack on Saturday instead of Sunday, but on account of a misunderstanding between their generals the plan failed. The number of deserters from his side appeared to have a prominent place in his mind, which he vainly endeavored to conceal. “Do you have many deserters from your ranks?” he commenced. I told him of only two cases which had come under my notice for more than a year, taking care to add that they ran home. He wanted to know if many of their men came over to us. I answered rather equivocally: “A few.” “How many?”

            Fearful now that if I told him the great number that actually did come to us, the rebel leaders would increase their vigilance, I merely said that I had seen six, the number I had personally beheld. “I guess they go the other way,” he replied, thereby acknowledging they suffered much from desertion. Mr. Tennessee wanted to know why we did not make the attack; they were anxiously waiting for us, and confident of victory. I said that they could not be more eager for the battle, or more sure of success, than ourselves ; that to us everything appeared to be ready ; but we were not supposed know Gen. Halleck’s plans.

            We talked together some fifteen minutes, both of us very wary about giving contraband information. He was a gentlemanly, well-educated man, apparently under thirty years of age, and from Maury County, Tennessee. I gave him the pictorial, and asked for a Memphis paper. He had none, but promised to send me over one, if he could procure it during the day. Before parting, I remarked that it would be well to make some agreement about picket firing, and learned that they had received orders precisely like ours.

            Gen. Garfield, who had the supervision of the outposts, called me in; so we again shook hands and separated, leaving many things unsaid that we would like to have spoken about. Garfield questioned me closely as to our conversation, and seemed satisfied that it was all right. However, being fearful that the rebels might learn something from us if such intercourse was allowed, he ordered us not to go out again, but to let any rebel that wished it to come over all the way. I had reason to regret this very much, as in the afternoon my friend, the doctor, came half way with the promised paper. We gave him to understand that it was against our orders to leave the post, and if he would come all the way we would do him no harm. He said he had a very late paper, but could not be induced to come farther than the neutral ground, and returned, much to our disappointment.

            After the interview of the morning all apprehension of danger from bullets from either side was at an end, and the sentinels on both aides paced their beats without so much as thinking to seek cover.

Anecdotes, Poetry and Incidents of the War: North and South. 1860-1865.
Collected and Arranged by Frank Moore, published 1867

            To the Twenty-second Massachusetts regiment, Col. Gove, and to the Twenty-second alone, belongs the glory of first planting the American flag on the works at Yorktown: of the truth of the statement there is and can be no question. The following brief account can be relied upon:

            The day before the evacuation, Saturday, May 3d, the twenty-second regiment received orders to march to a position within one thousand yards of the enemy’s works. Spades were furnished each man. We were then deployed on a line six feet apart, and the order came: “Dig for your lives.” Considering that we were completely exposed to a direct fire in front, and to a cross-fire from a water-battery stationed on the opposite side of the river, you may readily believe we hastened to obey orders. Fortunately, the enemy did not at once open fire, and our boys had a chance to do some little digging before the storm of ball and shell commenced; but long before the pits were fully completed, their guns were played upon us. Up to twelve o’clock, the enemy had fired one hundred and seventy-five shell and shot, and though none of our regiment were killed or wounded, there were many narrow escapes.

            Lieut. Stiles, commanding second company sharpshooters, in the absence of Capt. Wentworth, barely escaped being struck by a shell. In order to be able to give his men due notice when to dodge at the flash, he bravely and fearlessly exposed himself. In another case, one of the men was entirely buried by a shell striking the earth in front of the pit, and had actually to be dug out by his comrades.

            During the whole day our boys kept themselves busy, while the sharpshooters took every chance offered. When evening came, we were ordered back to camp; but before we had got fairly settled, the rebels commenced shelling us again. A piece of a shell struck the Adjutant’s tent, and buried itself a foot and a half in the ground. The Adjutant and one of the surgeons were in the tent at the time. At twelve o’clock our siege guns commenced operations, and the enemy ceased firing. The next morning at five o’clock, the Twenty-second were ordered to go on picket duty in front of the enemy’s lines.

            The regiment, having taken their position, soon discovered that the works were evacuated, and at once marched forward and took possession. There being no colors allowed with a regiment on picket duty, Col. Gove immediately sent to his camp for the American flag, and with his own hands planted it on the works at Yorktown. At this time there were no other regiments, or parts of regiments, present under their proper officers ; there were simply only a few stragglers, who followed after the Twenty-second. Col. Gove raised the flag, and was within ten feet of the concealed shell, which exploded and wounded seven of our men.

Anecdotes, Poetry and Incidents of the War: North and South. 1860-1865.
Collected and Arranged by Frank Moore, published 1867

Come, stack arms, men! Pile on the rails,
            Stir up the camp-fire bright;
No matter if the canteen fails,
            We’ll make a roaring night.
Here Shenandoah brawls along,
There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong,
To swell the brigade’s rousing song
Of “Stonewall Jackson’s way.”

We see him now — the old slouched hat
            Cocked o’er his eye askew,
The shrewd, dry smile, the speech so pat.
            So calm, so blunt, so true.
The “Blue-Light Elder” knows ‘em well ;
Says he, “That’s Banks—he’s fond of shell;
Lord save his soul ! we’ll give him “— well,
            That’s ” Stonewall Jackson’s way.”

Silence! ground arms! kneel, all! caps off!
            Old Blue-Light’s going to pray.
Strangle the fool that dares to scoff!
            Attention! it’s his way.
Appealing from his native sod,
            In forma pamperis to God —
“Lay bare thine arm, stretch forth thy rod
            Amen!” That’s ” Stonewall’s way.”

He’s in the saddle now. Fall in!
            Steady, the whole brigade!
Hill’s at the ford, cut off— we’ll win
            His way out, ball and blade!
What matter if our shoes are worn?
What matter if our feet are torn ?
            “Quick-step! we’re with him before dawn!”
            That’s ” Stonewall Jackson’s way.”

The sun’s bright lances rout the mists
            Of morning, and, by George!
Here’s Longstreet struggling in the lists,
            Hemmed in an ugly gorge.
Pope and his Yankees, whipped before,
“Bay’nets and grape!” near Stonewall roar;
“Charge, Stuart Pay off Ashby’s score!”
 Is ” Stonewall Jackson’s way.”

Ah, maiden, wait, and watch, and yearn
            For news of Stonewall’s band!
Ah, widow, read, with eyes that burn,
            That ring upon thy hand!
Ah, wife, sew on, pray on, hope on!
Thy life shall not be all forlorn.
The foe had better ne’er been born
            That gets in ” Stonewall’s way.”

Anecdotes, Poetry and Incidents of the War: North and South. 1860-1865.
Collected and Arranged by Frank Moore, published 1867

            The editor of Dwight’s Journal of Music published a letter from Miss Lucy McKim, of Philadelphia, accompanying a specimen of the songs in vogue among the negroes about Port Royal. Muss McKim accompanied her father thither on a recent visit, and wrote as follows :

            It is difficult to express the entire character of these negro ballads by mere musical notes and signs. The odd turns made in the throat, and the curious rhythmic effect produced by single voices chiming in at different irregular intervals, seem almost as impossible to place on score as the singing of birds or the tones of an Æolian harp. The airs, however, can be reached. They are too decided not to be easily understood, and their striking originality would catch the ear of any musician. Besides this, they are valuable as an expression of the character and life of the race which is playing such a conspicuous part in our history. The wild, sad strains tell, as the sufferers themselves never could, of crushed hopes, keen sorrow, and a dull, daily misery which covered them as hopelessly as the fog from the rice-swamps. On the other hand, the words breathe a trusting faith in rest in the future—in “Canaan’s fair and happy land,” to which their eyes seem constantly turned.

            A complaint might be made against these songs on the score of monotony. It is true there is a great deal of repetition of the music, but that is to accommodate the leader, who, if he be a good one, is always an improvisator. For instance, on one occasion, the name of each of our party who was present was dexterously introduced.

            As the same songs are sung at every sort of work, of course the tempo is not always alike. On the water, the oars dip “Poor Rosy” to an even andante; a stout boy and girl at the hominy-mill will make the same “Poor Rosy” fly, to keep up with the whirling stone; and in the evening, after the day’s work is done, “Heab’n shall a be my home” peals up slowly and mournfully from the distant quarters. One woman — a respectable house-servant, who had lost all but one of her twenty-two children — said to me:

            “Pshaw! don’t har to dese yar chil’en, missis. Dey jest rattles it off; dey don’t know how for sing it. I likes ‘Poor Rosy’ better dan all de songs, but it can’t be sung widout a full heart and a troubled sperrit!”

            All the songs make good barcarolles. Whittier “builded better than he knew,” when be wrote his “Song of the Negro Boatman.” It seemed wonderfully applicable as we were being rowed across Hilton Head Harbor among United States gunboats — the Wabash and the Vermont towering on either side. I thought the crew must strike up:

                        “And mama tink it day ob doom,
                                    And we ob jubilee.”

Perhaps the grandest singing we heard was at the Baptist Church, on St. Helena Island, when a congregation of three hundred men and women joined in a hymn:

                        “Roll, Jordan, roll, Jordan!
                                    Roll, Jordan, roll!”

            It swelled forth like a triumphal anthem. That same hymn was sung by thousands of negroes on the Fourth of July last, when they marched in procession under the Stars and Stripes, cheering them for the first time as the “flag of our country.” A friend, writing from there, says that the chorus was indescribably grand — “that the whole woods and world seemed joining in that rolling sound.”

            There is much more in this new and curious music of which it is a temptation to write, but I must remember that it can speak for itself, better than any one for it.

Anecdotes, Poetry and Incidents of the War: North and South. 1860-1865.
Collected and Arranged by Frank Moore, published 1867

            Just as we halted to start to the rear on hearing firing, said Adjutant Stevens of the First Vermont, a rebel scoundrel came out of a house and deliberately fired his gun at us. The ball passed so close to me that I heard it whiz — on its way going through the coat and pants, and just grazing the skin of, Orderly Sergeant Sweet, of the Woodstock company. The rascal was secured, and is a prisoner; and what was done, by way of stern entertainment, to one of the F.F.V.’s, you will hear if I ever live to return. I then, as the firing to the rear had ceased, with revolver in hand, accompanied by Fifer, approached the fellow’s house, having some expectation of an ounce of lead being deposited in my tall body without asking my permission. By this time all our troops were out of sight in the woods, by a turn in the road, and I was alone with Fifer, when some negroes came from the house, having less fear of two men than of two thousand. On inquiry, the slaves told me that Adjutant Whiting, whom we had just taken prisoner, was the owner, that he belonged to the secession army, and that no white folks were in the house, all having left. Without the ceremony of ringing, I entered and surveyed the premises, and found a most elegantly furnished house. I took a hasty survey in search of arms, but, finding none, left the house, and started to overtake our column. On reaching the bend in the road, I took a survey of the rear, to “see what I might see,” and discovered a single soldier coming towards me, and waited for him to come up. I found it was Clark, of the Bradford company. Before he reached me, I observed a horseman coining at full speed towards me. On reaching the house, he turned in, which induced me to think him a secessionist. I ordered Clark to cover him with his rifle, and revolver in hand, ordered him to dismount and surrender. He cried out, “Who are you?” Answer, “Vermont!” “Then raise your piece, Vermont ; I am Col. Duryea, of the Zouaves;” and so it was. His gay-looking red boys just appeared turning the corner of the road, coming towards us. He asked me the cause of the firing in the rear, and whose premises we were on. I told him he knew the first as well as I did, but as to the last, could give full information ; that the house belonged to one Adjutant Whiting, who, just before, had sent a bullet whizzing by me, and shot one of my boys, and that my greatest pleasure would be to burn the rascal’s house in payment. “Your wish will be gratified at once,” said the Colonel. “I am ordered by Gen. Butler to burn every house whose occupant or owner fires upon our troops. Burn it.” He leaped from his horse, and I upon the steps, and by that time three Zouaves were with me. I ordered them to try the door with the butts of their guns—down went the door, and in went we. A well-packed travelling bag lay upon a mahogany table. I tore it open with the hopes of finding a revolver, but did not. The first thing I took out was a white linen coat: I laid it on the table, and Col. Duryea put a lighted match to it. Other clothing was added to the pile and soon we had a rousing fire. Before leaving, I went into the large parlor in the right wing of the house — it was perfectly splendid. A large room with a tapestry carpet, a nice piano, a fine library of miscellaneous books, rich sofas, elegant chairs, with superior needle-work wrought bottoms, whatnots in the corners, loaded with articles of luxury, taste, and refinement, and upon a mahogany centre-table lay a Bible and a lady’s portrait. The last two articles I took, and have them now in my possession. I also took a decanter of most excellent old brandy from the sideboard, and left the burning house. By this time the Zouave regiment had come up. I joined them, and in a short time came up with our rear guard, and saw a sight, the like of which I wish never to see again— viz. : nine of Col. Townsend’s Albany regiment stretched on the floor of a house, where they had just been carried, and eight of them mortally wounded, by our own men. O, the sight was dreadful. I cried like a boy, and so did many others. I immediately thought of my decanter of brandy, took a tin cup from a soldier and poured into it the brandy, and filled it (the cup) with water from a canteen, and from one poor boy to another I passed and poured into their pale and quivering lips the invigorating fluid, and with my hand wiped the sweat-drops of death from their foreheads. O, how gratefully the poor fellows looked at me as they saw, by my uniform, that the usually stern officer and Commander had become to them the kind and tenderhearted woman, by doing for them woman’s holy duty. One strong fellow, wounded in the head, and bloody as a butcher’s floor, soon rallied, and was able to converse with me. I asked him if he knew the poor fellows around him. He said yes, and pointing to one, he said, “That man stood at my side — he was my section man — I saw his gun fly out of his hands, being struck by a grape shot, and a moment after we both tumbled to the ground together.” I went out and picked up an Enfleld rifle, nearly cut in two by a ball; said he, “That is his gun.” I saw its owner die, and brought the gun with me back to my camp, and have it in my possession.

Sing, bird, on green Missouri’s plain,
    The saddest song of sorrow;
Drop tears, O clouds, in gentlest rain
   Ye from the winds can borrow;
Breathe out, ye winds, your softest sigh,
    Weep, flowers, in dewy splendor,
For him who knew well how to die.
    But never to surrender.

Up rose serene the August sun
   Upon that day of glory;
Up curled from musket and from gun
   The war-cloud gray and hoary;
It gathered like a funeral pall,
   Now broken and now blended,
Where rang the buffalo’s angry call,
   And rank with rank contended.

Four thousand men, as brave and true
    As e’er went forth in daring,
Upon the foe that morning threw
   The strength of their despairing.
They feared not death — men bless the field
   That patriot soldiers die on —
Fair freedom’s cause was sword and shield,
   And at their head was Lyon!

Their leader’s troubled soul looked forth
   From eyes of troubled brightness;
Sad soul! the burden of the North
   Had pressed out all its lightness.
He gazed upon the unequal fight,
   His ranks all rent and gory,
And felt the shadows close like night
   Round his career of glory.

"General, come, lead us " loud the cry
   From a brave band was ringing —
"Lead us, and we will stop, or die;
   That battery’s awful singing."
He spurred to where his heroes stood,
   Twice wounded, — no wound knowing. —
The fire of battle in his blood.
   And on his forehead glowing.

O, cursed for aye that traitor’s hand,
   And cursed that aim so deadly,
Which smote the bravest of the land,
   And dyed his bosom redly!
Serene he lay while past him pressed
   The battle’s furious billow,
As calmly as a babe may rest
   Upon its mother’s pillow.

So Lyon died and well may flowers
   His place of burial cover,
For never had this land of ours
   A more devoted lover.
Living, his country was his bride;
   His life he gave her, dying;
Life, fortune, love—he nought denied
   To her and to her sighing.

Rest, Patriot, in thy hillside grave,
   Beside her form who bore thee!
Long the land thou diedst to save
   Her hammered stars wave o’er thee
Upon her history’s brightest page,
   And on Fame’s glowing portal,.
She’ll write thy grand, heroic page,
   And pave thy name immortal!

A correspondent relates the following incidents :

            “The Platte Valley steamer was brought to by the guns of the St. Louis arsenal, with a load of traitors and contrabands. The first shot, a blank cartridge, produced no effect. The next was a shell, which was made to explode a little beyond the boat; and this also was disregarded. The third, a large ball, passed just above her deck, between the chimneys and the wheel-house, and had the effect to set the bell ringing and the whistle screaming, which signals of acquiescence were continued till the boat reached the landing. ‘Why, sir,’ said the Captain to the gunner, ‘did you mean to sink me?’ ‘Certainly,’ was the cool reply; ‘I am ordered to fire one harmless shot at least ; I gave you the benefit of two, and aimed a third at your engine, but the gun was ranged a little too high. I did not want to hit your boilers, and scald you all to death; but the next time I shall sink you at the second shot!’ ‘For God’s sake, don’t trouble yourself,’ replied the Captain ; ‘just send a small boy down to tap a drum whenever you want me, and I’ll come to at once.’

            “Major Rawlings tells an anecdote, in the same vein, of a prominent lawyer of St. Louis. ‘Major,’ said he, lately, ‘I’m a choleric man, and I find it won’t do. I’m getting to have a profound respect for Minie bullets. Won’t you do me the favor to get me one? and whenever I find my temper rising against the Dutch, I will put my hand in my pocket, and feel a bullet, and that will cool me off!’ The Major got the bullet for him, and the effect seems to be equal to the expectation. Certainly it is better to have one in the pocket than in the body, if the effect on one’s loyalty is just the same.

            “Some one inquired of Col. Boernstein how long he should remain. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied with a French shrug of the shoulder; ‘perhaps year; so long as the Governor chooses to stay away. I am Governor now; you see, till he comes back!’ His notions of freedom of speech and the press he expressed freely, like this: ‘All people zall speak vot dey tink, write vot dey pleazhe, and be free to do any tink dey pleazhe —only dey zall speak and write no treason!’” — National Intelligencer.

           Sparrowgrass’ proposition, that the Home Guard should not leave home except in case of invasion, is equal to the old story of the Bung-town Riflemen, an Ohio military company, whose by-laws consisted of two sections, namely :

            "Article First. — This company shall be known as the Bungtown Riflemen.

            "Article Second.—In case of war this company shall immediately disband."

BY ALBERT PIKE.

Southrons hear your country call you!
Up ! lest worse than death befall you!
    To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie!
Lo ! all the beacon-fires are lighted
Let all hearts be now united!
    To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie!
        Advance the flag of Dixie
            Hurrah! hurrah!
For Dixie’s land we take our stand,
    And live or die for Dixie !
        To arms! To arms!
    And conquer peace for Dixie
        To arms! To arms!
    And conquer peace for Dixie!

Hear the Northern thunders mutter!
Northern flags in South wind flutter!
    To arms ! &c.
        Advance the flag of Dixie ! &c.

Fear no danger! Shun no labor!
Lift up rifle, pike, and sabre!
    To arms! &c.
Shoulder pressing close to shoulder,
Let the odds make each heart bolder!
    To arms! &c.
        Advance the flag of Dixie! &c.

How the South’s great heart rejoices
At your cannons’ ringing voices!
    To arms! &c.
For faith betrayed, and pledges broken,
Wrongs inflicted, insults spoken,
    To arms! &c.
        Advance the flag of Dixie! &c.

Strong as lions, swift as eagles,
Back to their kennels hunt these beagles!
    To arms! &c.
Cut the unequal words asunder!
Let them then each other plunder!
    To arms! &c.
    Advance the flag of Dixie! &c.

Swear upon your country’s altar
Never to submit or falter!
    To arms! &c.
Till the spoilers are defeated,
Till the Lord’s work is completed,
    To arms! &c.
        Advance the flag of Dixie! &c.

Halt not, till our Federation
Secures among earth’s powers its station !
    To arms! &c.
Then at peace, and crowned with glory,
Hear your children tell the story !
    To arms ! &c.
        Advance the flag of Dixie! &c.

If the loved ones weep in sadness,
Victory soon shall bring them gladness.
    To arms! &c.
Exultant pride soon banish sorrow;
Smiles chase tears away to-morrow.
    To arms ! &c.
        Advance the flag of Dixie! &c.

            FAIRFAX COURT House, June 2, 1883. —The sun glistens on a twelve-pound brass howitzer, which, with its limber, occupies a position directly in front of Gen. Stahl’s headquarters. The story of the gun is this: Made in the year 1859, it was used by the Union troops at Ball’s Bluff; where it fell into the hands of the rebels, and since that time has done service in the rebel army. After Mosby had been whipped several times by Stahl’s cavalry, this gun was furnished him to redeem his laurels. On Friday night last, Mosby, with about one hundred and seventy-five men and the howitzer, camped at Greenwich. Early on Saturday they made a hurried march toward the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, which they struck about one and a half miles this side of Catlett’s Station. Here they concealed themselves in the woods, placed the howitzer in position, and awaited the arrival of the train from Alexandria, carrying forage and stores to Bealeton. As the cars came opposite the ambuscade, a rail, adroitly displaced, caused the locomotive to run off the track. At this moment  a ball from the gun went through the boiler, and another pierced the smoke-stack. The guard upon the train were scared by hearing artillery, and beat a hasty retreat, leaving the train at the disposition of the rebels. Had any resistance been offered, it is believed that the train could have been saved, and all the rebels captured. As it was, the guerrillas destroyed the cars, ten in number, and then, anticipating a visit from Stahl’s cavalry, made off in the direction of Auburn. Meanwhile, Col. Mann, of the Seventh Michigan cavalry, who was in command of the portion of Stahl’s cavalry at Bristow, hearing the firing, started with portions of the Fifth New York, First Vermont, and Seventh Michigan, to learn the cause. Taking the precaution to send the Fifth New York, Capt. A. H. Hasbrouck commanding, across the country to Auburn, to intercept the retreat, he followed up the railroad until the sight of the burning train told that portion of the story. Leaving the burning train, Col. Mann followed the track of the retreating foe, and soon heard the sound of cannon towards Greenwich, indicating that Capt. Hasbrouck, with the Fifth New York, had either intercepted or come up with the enemy. As it afterwards proved, they had come upon their rear, and had been fired upon from the howitzer. Owing to the nature of the ground, the Fifth New York was unable to deploy, so as to operate effectively, and the enemy again started on the run, closely followed by Capt. Hasbrouck and his command. Col. Mann pressed on to reach the scene of the firing. Learning the particulars of their escape, he divided his force, sending Lieut.-Col. Preston, with part of the First Vermont cavalry, to reënforce the Fifth New York, and with the balance he struck across the country, again hoping to intercept them.

            Finding themselves so hotly pressed, the enemy, when near Grapewood Farm, about two miles from Greenwich, took position at the head of a short, narrow lane, with high fences on either side, placing the howitzer so as to command the lane, strongly supported by his whole force. The advance of the Fifth New York, about twenty-five men, under Lieut. Elmer Barker, coming up, the Lieutenant determined to charge the gun, fearing, if he halted, the rebels would again run away. Gallantly riding up the narrow lane, with almost certain death before them, these brave men, bravely led by Lieut. Barker, dashed with a yell towards the gun. When within about fifty yards, the rebels opened fire with grape upon them. The result was, three men were killed and seven wounded. The rebels immediately charged, led by Mosby himself. Lieut. Barker, twice wounded in the leg, continued with his handful of men to contest every inch of the ground, and himself crossed sabres with Mosby. But numbers told, and several of the Fifth New York were made prisoners. This gallant fight of Lieut. Barker afforded Col. Preston an opportunity to come up with the First Vermont. Lieut. Hazleton was in advance, with about seventy-five men, and charged bravely up the lane, the few boys of the Fifth New York, who were left, joining the Vermonters. Again and again the gun dealt destruction through the ranks, but nothing could check their impetuosity, and the brave fellows rode over the gun, sabring the gunners, and captured the piece. Serg. Carey, of the First Vermont, was shot dead by the side of the gun; his brother, a corporal in the same regiment, although his arm was shattered, struck down the gunner as he applied the match for the last time. Mosby and his men fought desperately to recover the gun, but in vain.

            Meanwhile, Col. Preston had charged across the fields upon their flank, and the enemy fled in all directions, taking refuge in the thickets, with which they are so familiar. One party attempted to take away the limber, but it was speedily captured and brought in. The long chase in the hot sun, the desperate fight, and the jaded condition of the horses, prevented further pursuit, which, with the enemy so widely scattered, and with their knowledge of every by-path and thicket, would have been almost fruitless. Capt. B. S. Haskins, an Englishman, and formerly a Captain in the Forty-Fourth royal infantry, who was with Mosby, was so badly wounded that he has since died. Lieut. Capman, formerly of the regular army, who was in charge of the gun, was also dangerously wounded and paroled on the field, as he could not be removed. Our loss was four killed and fifteen wounded. The rebels had six killed, twenty wounded, and lost ten prisoners. All the Fifth New York who were taken by the rebels were recaptured.

            The result of this fight is more disastrous the rebels than the previous engagements. The Southern Confederacy will not be apt to trust Mr. Mosby with other guns if he cannot take better care of them than he has with this one.  The enemy was beaten by about the sam force, in a position chosen by themselves, and defended with a howitzer.  Their killed and wounded outnumber ours, and the howitzer is ready to be turned against them at the earliest opportunity.  The conduct of officers and men is highly commended by Col. Mann in his official report to Gen. Stahl, and the gallantry of the charge of the Fifth New York and the First Vermont is deserving mention.