ld up the bleeding, quivering stump,
exclaiming, "Never mind, boys; I'll come back soon and try 'em with this
other one." Alas! poor fellow, he had fought his last fight.

Poor Tom, he who was always, as he said, "willing to give 'em half a
leg, or so," was struck about the waist by a shot which almost cut him
in two. He fell heavily to the ground, and, though in awful agony,
managed to say: "Tell mother I died doing my duty."

While the fight lasted, several of the best and bravest received wounds
apparently mortal, and were laid aside covered by an old army blanket.
They refused to die, however, and remain to this day to tell their own
stories of the war and of their marvelous recovery.

At the battle of the Wilderness, May, 1864, a man from North Carolina
precipitated a severe fight by asking a very simple and reasonable
question. The line of battle had been pressed forward and was in close
proximity to the enemy. The thick and tangled undergrowth prevented a
sight of the enemy, but every man felt he was near. Everything was
hushed and still. No one dared to speak above a whisper. It was evening,
and growing dark. As the men lay on the ground, keenly sensible to every
sound, and anxiously waiting, they heard the firm tread of a man walking
along the line. As he walked they heard also the jingle-jangle of a pile
of canteens hung around his neck. He advanced with deliberate mien to
within a few yards of the line and opened a terrific fight by quietly
saying, "Can any you fellows tell a man whar he can git some water?"
Instantly the thicket was illumined by the flash of a thousand muskets,
the men leaped to their feet, the officers shouted, and the battle was
begun. Neither side would yield, and there they fought till many died.

Soon, however, the reserve brigade began to make its way through the
thicket. The first man to appear was the brigadier, thirty yards ahead
of his brigade, his sword between his teeth, and parting the bushes with
both hands as he spurred his horse through the tangled growth. Eager for
the fight, his eyes glaring and his countenance lit up with fury, his
first word was "Forward!" and forward went the line.

[Illustration: THE BATTLE OPENS]

On the march from Petersburg to Appomattox, after a sharp engagement,
some men of Cutshaw's artillery battalion, acting as infantry, made a
stand for a while on a piece of high ground. They noticed, hanging
around in a lonely, distracted way, a tall, lea