fifteen times each
way, but I escaped without a scratch. Had they had some decent shots there
I would have been shot into mincemeat and why I was not is a thing I have
never been able to understand. Some of our boys in the rifle pits declared
they heard the Johnnies clap as I jumped down into the rifle pit on my
return. Well, in the middle of the afternoon when I received the signal to
fall back I gave the order, but not more than half the men struck
out,--the remainder preferring to remain there and be taken prisoners
rather than take the risk of that run across the field. When I got back
fifteen or twenty rods I turned and looked back. The Rebs were taking
those of our boys that remained, out of the rifle pits. We now formed a
skirmish line and fell slowly back. The Confederates formed their skirmish
line and began to follow us up. The retreat down to Bethseda Church, a
distance of about three or four miles, was most exciting, the Johnnies
following us up pretty closely. But once in a while we would make a stand.
Then they would bring up their artillery, and lines of infantry would
swing into place. Then we would quietly drop back again. When we reached
the vicinity of Bethseda Church there were lines of battle everywhere. We
were ordered back to the rear of the lines and were then sent to our
regiments. The 21st was quite a little way off to the left. Emmons had
just been killed when I found the regiment. Marcus Emmons was a Hardwick
boy. He was an awkward, unsoldierly appearing man, but he was a man of
considerable intellectual ability and a man of splendid character; and, so
far as I ever saw, he was as brave as the bravest, without any show or
parade, but always did his duty faithfully. Had he been possessed of a
fine soldierly figure and bearing, he could just as well have held a
commission as lieutenant-colonel or colonel as to have been a sergeant.

That night we camped right near the battlefield, and early the next
morning I got up and started to take a walk over the field out near the
Confederate battery where so many horses were killed. I found a live
Johnny; there were a number of dead men lying about among the caissons and
dead horses, but one I saw moved. I went up to him and greeted him and
asked him if he was badly wounded. "Yes," said he, "I guess it is all up
with me." He was lying flat on his back and appeared to be unable to move,
gazing up into the sky, his eyes were restless and rolling. He had bee