fell into the hands of
the enemy. The same night he suffered amputation of a leg. Captain
Garber was struck, and called for the ambulance corps, but on
examination found the ball in his pocket. It had lodged against the
rowel of a spur which he found the day before and dropped in his
pocket.

At last the enemy appeared in strong force on both flanks, while he
pushed hard in front. It was useless to attempt a further stand. The
voice of Captain Jones, of the Howitzers, rang out loud and clear,
"Boys, take care of yourselves!" Saying this, he planted himself against
a pine, and, as his men rushed by him, emptied every chamber of his
revolver at the enemy, and then reluctantly made his way, in company
with several privates, down the hill to the creek.

At the foot of the hill a group of perhaps a dozen men gathered around
Lieutenant McRae. He was indignant. He proposed another stand, and his
comrades agreed. They stood in the road, facing the gentle slope of the
hill from which they had been ordered to retire. The enemy's skirmishers
were already on the brow of the hill, dodging about among the trees and
shouting to those behind to hurry up. Their favorite expressions were,
"Come along, boys; here are the damned rebel wagons!" "Damn 'em shoot
'em down!"

In a few moments their line of battle, in beautiful order, stepped out
of the woods with colors flying, and for a moment halted. In front of
the centre of that portion of the line which was visible--probably a
full regimental front--marched the colors, and color-guard. McRae saw
his opportunity. He ordered his squad to rise and fire on the colors.
His order was promptly obeyed. The color-bearer pitched forward and
fell, with his colors, heavily to the ground. The guard of two men on
either side shared the same fate, or else feigned it. Immediately the
line of battle broke into disorder, and came swarming down the hill,
firing, yelling, and cursing as they came. An officer, mounted, rode his
horse close to the fence on the roadside, and with the most superb
insolence mocked McRae and his squad, already, as he thought, hopelessly
intermingled with the enemy. McRae, in his rage, swore back at him, and
in the hearing of the man, called on a man near him to shoot "that ----
----," calling him a fearfully hard name. But the private's gun was not
in working order, and the fellow escaped for the time. Before he reached
the woods, whither he was going to hurry up the "boys," a H