of them the letter. They rushed out, unfastened
their horses, and left in a gallop for Stillwell's, two miles away, on
the south side of Otter Creek, out in the woods. As they dashed up to
the little old log cabin they saw my father out near the barn; the one
with the letter waved it aloft, calling at the top of his voice:
"Letter from your boy, Jerry!" My mother heard this, and she came
running from the house, trembling with excitement. The letter was at
once opened and read,--and the terrible reports which to that time had
prevailed about the fate of Fry's regiment vanished in the air. It's
true, it contained some sad news, but nothing to be compared with the
fearful accounts which had been rife in the neighborhood. I have that
old letter in my possession now.

Soon after the battle Gov. Richard Yates, of Illinois, Gov. Louis P.
Harvey, of Wisconsin, and many other civilians, came down from the north
to look after the comfort of the sick and wounded soldiers of their
respective states. The 16th Wisconsin Infantry was camped next to us,
and I learned one afternoon that Gov. Harvey was to make them a speech
that evening, after dress parade, and I went over to hear him. The
Wisconsin regiment did not turn out in military formation, just gathered
around him in a dense group under a grove of trees. The Governor sat on
a horse while making his speech. He wore a large, broad-brimmed hat, his
coat was buttoned to the chin, and he had big buckskin gauntlets on his
hands. He was a fine looking man, heavy set, and about forty-two years
old. His remarks were not lengthy, but were patriotic and eloquent. I
remember especially how he complimented the Wisconsin soldiers for their
good conduct in battle, that their state was proud of them, and that he,
as Governor, intended to look after them, and care for them to the very
best of his ability, as long as he was in office, and that when the time
came for him to relinquish that trust, he would still remember them with
interest and the deepest affection. His massive frame heaved with the
intensity of his feelings as he spoke and he impressed me as being
absolutely sincere in all that he said. But he little knew nor
apprehended the sad and lamentable fate then pending over him. Only a
few evenings later, as he was crossing the gang-plank between two
steamboats at the Landing, in some manner he fell from the plank, and
was sucked under the boats by the current, and drowned. Some days late