about one hundred yards
of their main line of infantry, much closer than any of the troops that
followed. The others had barely got beyond the embankment, when they
were swept away. We, having approached nearer their line, were, of
course, longer exposed to their fire and lost more heavily.

I was always curious to know why we of the first line of that fateful
movement succeeded in getting so much nearer their works than the
equally brave and determined men who followed us. Some years afterwards
on revisiting this location I met an ex-Confederate who commanded one of
the rebel batteries on those heights that day. In answer to my
questions, he said the first "Yankee" line was permitted to approach
much nearer than those that followed, for, said he, "we knew they were
our meat, and when we finally opened on them with our full force, the
slaughter was so awful it made me heart sick. But you kept coming with
such persistency that we did not dare repeat those tactics." This may
have been partially true so far as concerned their infantry fire, but a
more potent reason, in my judgment, was that we had developed the utter
hopelessness of the attempt, and men could not put heart into the
effort.

Recurring to myself again, Colonel Albright stanched the flowing of
blood from my wound in the head by making a strong compress of my large
bandana handkerchief. The other wound in my leg did not give me much
trouble then. In that condition, accompanied by another wounded man, I
made my way back into the city. We found it one vast hospital. Every
house was literally crowded with wounded men. We were fortunate enough
to run against our brigade surgeon, who had taken possession of a brick
building on the main street for hospital purposes. The only thing he
could give me to lie down upon was a wooden bench. We had dismounted and
left our horses with a servant when we went forward, and our blankets,
etc., were with them, and where they were now there was no means of
knowing. I was therefore without those comforts. Everything of that
nature left by the rebels had long before been appropriated. The doctor
hastily examined my wounds, pronounced them not dangerous, ordered the
hospital steward to dress them, and was away. He, however, appropriated
my red handkerchief. I had been presented by a friend on leaving
Scranton with two large old-fashioned red silk bandana handkerchiefs,
and they were exceedingly useful. The doctor, seeing them, said,