smothered groan, I
looked round, and saw Frank Grover, pale and reeling.

"'I'm shot in the leg,' he said. 'Don't leave me here. Help me along,
and I will try to keep up with you.'

"The poor lad leaned upon me, and we staggered forward. But not for
long. A stone wall stared us in the face. Here rebel sharpshooters had
been stationed, and they opened a galling fire upon us. We returned it,
but what could we do? We were compelled to retire, and did so in good
order, but unfortunately not until the sharpshooters had picked off some
of our best men.

"Among the victims was the poor lad whom I assisted. A second bullet
struck him in the heart. He uttered just one word, 'mother,' and fell.
Poor boy, and poor mother! He seemed to have a premonition of his
approaching death, and requested me the day previous to take charge of
his effects, and send them with his love and a lock of his hair to
his mother if anything should befall him. This request I shall at once
comply with. I have succeeded in getting the poor fellow's body brought
to camp, where it will be decently buried, and have cut from his head
two brown locks, one for his mother, and one for myself.

"At last we got back with ranks fearfully diminished. Many old familiar
faces were gone--the faces of those now lying stiff and stark in death.
More were groaning with anguish in the crowded hospital. My own wound
was too trifling to require much attention. I shall have to wear a sling
for a few days perhaps.

"There is little more to tell. Until Tuesday evening we maintained our
position in daily expectation of an attack. But none was made. This was
more fortunate for us. I cannot understand what withheld the enemy from
an assault.

"On Tuesday suddenly came the order to re-cross the river. It was a
stormy and dreary night, and so, of course, favorable to our purpose.
The maneuver was executed in silence, and with commendable expedition.
The rebels appeared to have no suspicion of General Burnside's
intentions. The measured beat of our double quick was drowned by the
fury of the storm, and with minds relieved, though bodies drenched,
we once more found ourselves with the river between us and our foes.
Nothing was left behind.

"Here we are again, but not all of us. Many a brave soldier has breathed
his last, and lies under the sod. 'God's ways are dark, but soon or late
they touch the shining hills of day.' So sings our own Whittier, and so
I believe, in spite of