oved as if it would have caught off his hat and waved it; but this
gesture he suppressed, and instead he waved his hand, and said "Hurrah!"
The son, with more youth in his blood and less rank upon his shoulders,
snatched off his cap, and roared out his three "hurrahs" right heartily.
The General then surveyed the field, some minutes, in silence. He at
length asked who was in command--he had heard that Hancock and Gibbon
were wounded--and I told him that General Caldwell was the senior
officer of the Corps and General Harrow of the Division. He asked where
they were, but before I had time to answer that I did not know, he
resumed: "No matter; I will give my orders to you and you will see them
executed." He then gave direction that the troops should be reformed as
soon as practicable, and kept in their places, as the enemy might be mad
enough to attack again. He also gave directions concerning the posting
of some reinforcements which he said would soon be there, adding: "If
the enemy does attack, charge him in the flank and sweep him from the
field; do you understand." The General then, a gratified man, galloped
in the direction of his headquarters.

Then the work of the field went on. First, the prisoners were collected
and sent to the rear. "There go the men," the Rebels were heard to say,
by some of our surgeons who were in Gettysburg, at the time Pickett's
Division marched out to take position--"There go the men that will go
through your d--d Yankee lines, for you," A good many of them did "go
through our lines for us," but in a very different way from the one they
intended--not impetuous victors, sweeping away our thin lines with ball
and bayonet, but crestfallen captives, without arms, guarded by the true
bayonets of the Union, with the cheers of their conquerors ringing in
their ears. There was a grim truth after all in this Rebel remark.
Collected, the prisoners began their dreary march, a miserable,
melancholy stream of dirty gray, to pour over the crest to our rear.
Many of the officers were well dressed, fine, proud gentlemen, such men
as it would be a pleasure to meet, when the war is over. I had no desire
to exult over them, and pity and sympathy were the general feelings of
us all upon the occasion. The cheering of our men, and the unceremonious
handling of the captured flags was probably not gratifying to the
prisoners, but not intended for taunt or insult to the men; they could
take no exception to such pra