rk and rainy, and that lessens
the danger; but still he is picking his teeth in the very jaws of the
lion,--if he can be called a lion, who does nothing but roar like unto
Marshall.

Space will not permit me to detail this midnight ramble; but it gave
Garfield the exact position of the enemy. They had made a stand, and
laid an ambuscade for him. Strongly posted on a semicircular hill, at
the forks of Middle Creek, on both sides of the road, with cannon
commanding its whole length, and hidden by the trees, they were waiting
his coming.

The Union commander broke up his bivouac at four in the morning and
began to move forward. Reaching the valley of Middle Creek, he
encountered some of the enemy's mounted men, and captured a quantity of
stores they were trying to withdraw from Prestonburg. Skirmishing went
on until about noon, when the Rebel pickets were driven back upon their
main body, and then began the battle. It is not my purpose to describe
it; for that has already been ably done, in thirty lines, by the man who
won it.

It was a wonderful battle. In the history of this war there is not
another like it. Measured by the forces engaged, the valor displayed,
and the results which followed, it throws into the shade even the
achievements of the mighty hosts which saved the nation. Eleven hundred
men, without cannon, charge up a rocky hill, over stumps, over stones,
over fallen trees, over high intrenchments, right into the face of five
thousand, and twelve pieces of artillery!

For five hours the contest rages. Now the Union forces are driven back;
then, charging up the hill, they regain the lost ground, and from behind
rocks and trees pour in their murderous volleys. Then again they are
driven back, and again they charge up the hill, strewing the ground with
corpses. So the bloody work goes on; so the battle wavers, till the
setting sun, wheeling below the hills, glances along the dense lines of
Rebel steel moving down to envelop the weary eleven hundred. It is an
awful moment, big with the fate of Kentucky. At its very crisis two
figures stand out against the fading sky, boldly defined in the
foreground.

One is in Union blue. With a little band of heroes about him, he is
posted on a projecting rock, which is scarred with bullets, and in full
view of both armies. His head is uncovered, his hair streaming in the
wind, his face upturned in the darkening daylight, and from his soul is
going up a prayer,--a prayer f