eet away, saying, "Excuse me, sir, I can
stand defeat but not insult." Insult indeed! to shake the hand of
one of the most illustrious chieftains of the century, one who had
tendered the hand in friendly recognition of past associations, thus
to smooth and soften the humiliation of his foe's present condition!
Insult--was it?

When Bob Toombs, at the head of his brigade, was sweeping through the
tangled underbrush at Savage Station, under a terrific hail of bullets
from the retreating enemy, he was hailed by a fallen enemy, who had
braced himself against a tree:

"Hello, Bob Toombs! Hello, Bob Toombs! Don't you know your old friend
Webster?"

Dismounting, Toombs went to the son of his old friend but political
adversary, Daniel Webster, one of the great trio at Washington of
twenty years before, and found his life slowly ebbing away.
Toombs rendered him all the assistance in his power--placed him in
comfortable position that he might die at ease--and hastened on to
rejoin his command, after promising to perform some last sad rites
after his death. When the battle was ended for the day, the great
fiery Secessionist hastened to return to the wounded enemy. But too
late; his spirit had flown, and nothing was now left to Toombs but to
fulfill the promises he made to his dying foe. He had his body carried
through the lines that night under a flag of truce and delivered
with the messages left to his friends. He had known young Webster at
Washington when his illustrious father was at the zenith of his power
and fame. The son and the great Southern States' Rights champion had
become fast friends as the latter was just entering on his glorious
career.

Our brigade lost heavily in the battle of Savage Station both in
officers and men. Lieutenant Colonel Garlington, of the Third, was
killed, and so was Captain Langford and several Lieutenants. Colonel
Bland, of the Seventh, was wounded and disabled for a long time. The
casualties in the battle of Savage Station caused changes in officers
in almost every company in the brigade.

When I came to consciousness after being wounded the first thing that
met my ears was the roar of musketry and the boom of cannon, with the
continual swish, swash of the grape and canister striking the trees
and ground. I placed my hand in my bosom, where I felt a dull,
deadening sensation. There I found the warm blood, that filled my
inner garments and now trickled down my side as I endeavored to sta