served faithfully almost since the end of the war with
the 16th United States Infantry, in which he holds a captain's
commission. No one meeting him now would hear from his reticent lips, or
read in his placid face, the thrilling story that links his name in so
remarkable a manner with the history of the famous Bastile of the
Confederacy.

A HARD ROAD TO TRAVEL OUT OF DIXIE

BY W.H. SHELTON

It was past noon of the first day of the bloody contest in the
Wilderness. The guns of the Fifth Corps, led by Battery D of the 1st New
York Artillery, were halted along the Orange turnpike, by which we had
made the fruitless campaign to Mine Run. The continuous roar of musketry
in front and to the left indicated that the infantry was desperately
engaged, while the great guns filling every wooded road leading up to
the battle-field were silent. Our drivers were lounging about the
horses, while the cannoneers lay on the green grass by the roadside or
walked by the pieces. Down the line came an order for the center
section, under my command, to advance and pass the right section, which
lay in front of us. General Warren, surrounded by his staff, sat on a
gray horse at the right of the road where the woods bordered an open
field dipping between two wooded ridges. The position we were leaving
was admirable, while the one to which we were ordered, on the opposite
side of the narrow field, was wholly impracticable. The captain had
received his orders in person from General Warren, and joined my command
as we passed.

We dashed down the road at a trot, the cannoneers running beside their
pieces. At the center of the field we crossed by a wooden bridge over a
deep, dry ditch, and came rapidly into position at the side of the
turnpike and facing the thicket. As the cannoneers were not all up, the
captain and I dismounted and lent a hand in swinging round the heavy
trails. The air was full of Minie balls, some whistling by like mad
hornets, and others, partly spent, humming like big nails. One of the
latter struck my knee with force enough to wound the bone without
penetrating the grained-leather boot-leg. In front of us the ground rose
into the timber where our infantry was engaged. It was madness to
continue firing here, for my shot must first plow through our own lines
before reaching the enemy. So after one discharge the captain ordered
the limbers to the rear, and the section started back at a gallop. My
horse was cut on th