lting over the partly torn-down fences and exposed to far-reaching
missiles, I had an opportunity of seeing other portions of the
battlefield. We stopped for a time on the ridge overlooking the village
almost enveloped in the flames of burning buildings, while flocks of
terrified pigeons, driven hither and thither by the screaming and
bursting shells, flew round and round in the clouds of smoke. In
hearing, from beyond and to the left of the village, was the fighting at
"Bloody Lane," a sunken road which was almost filled with the dead of
both sides when the day closed. As was also that at "Burnside Bridge," a
mile southeast of the town, for the possession of which Burnside's corps
and Toombs's Georgians contended till late in the afternoon. I was not
averse to leaving this scene when the disabled caisson proceeded, and
reached the pike.

A mile farther on I was deposited on the roadside, near the brigade
field-hospital; and, completely exhausted, was carried into the yard of
a neat brick cottage by two stalwart Alleghany Roughs and laid beside
their captain, John Carpenter. The place, inside and out, was filled
with wounded men. Carpenter insisted on my taking the last of his
two-ounce vial of whiskey, which wonderfully revived me. Upon inquiry,
he told me he had been shot through the knee by a piece of shell and
that the surgeons wanted to amputate his leg, but, calling my attention
to a pistol at his side, said, "You see that? It will not be taken off
while I can pull a trigger." He entirely recovered, and led his battery
into the next battle, where he was again severely wounded. That the
history of the four Carpenter brothers of Alleghany County, Virginia,
has not been recorded is a misfortune. As already mentioned, Joe, the
oldest, and captain of the Alleghany Rough Battery, was mortally wounded
near us at Cedar Mountain. John, who succeeded him as captain, after
being wounded at Sharpsburg, was again wounded at Fredericksburg in
1862, where he was twice carried from the field, and as often worked his
way back to his gun. In Early's campaign in 1864 he lost his right arm.
In the same campaign his next younger brother, Ben, lieutenant in the
same company, was shot through the lungs. The wounds of neither had
healed when they received news, at their home, of the surrender at
Appomattox. Mounting their horses, they set out for Gen. Joe Johnston's
army in North Carolina, but, on arriving at Lexington, Virginia, heard
o