t avail had it been to us that our best blood
had flowed for six long days? Of what avail all our unceasing and
exhaustless endurance? Everything, everything seemed lost, and a general
depression came over all our hearts. Batteries dashed past in headlong
flight; ammunition, hospital and supply wagons rushed along, and swept
the troops away with them from the battlefield. In vain was the most
frantic exertion, entreaty and self sacrifice of the staff officers! The
troops had lost their foot-hold, and all was over with the Southern
Confederacy!

"In this moment of desperation Gen. A. P Hill came up with a few
regiments he had managed to rally, but the enemy was continually
pressing nearer and nearer! Louder and louder their shouts and the
watchword, "On to Richmond!" could be heard. Cavalry officers sprang
from their saddles and rushed into the ranks of the infantry regiments
now deprived of their proper officers. Gen. Hill seized the standard of
the 4th North Carolina regiment, which he had formerly commanded and
shouted to the soldiers, "If you will not follow me, I will perish
alone!" Upon this a number of officers dashed forward to cover their
beloved general with their bodies; the soldiers hastily rallied, and the
cry, 'Lead on, Hill; head your old North Carolina boys!' rose over the
field.

"And now Hill charged forward with this mass he had thus worked up to
the wildest enthusiasm. The enemy halted when they saw these columns,
in flight a moment before, now advancing to the attack, and Hill burst
upon his late pursuers like a famished lion.

"A fearful hand to hand conflict now ensued, for there was no time to
load and fire. The ferocity with which this conflict was waged was
incredible. It was useless to beg the exasperated men for quarter; there
was no moderation, no pity, no compassion in that bloody work of bayonet
and knife. The son sank dying at his father's feet; the father forgot
that he had a child--a dying child; the brother did not see that a
brother was expiring a few paces from him; the friend heard not the last
groan of a friend; all natural ties were dissolved; only one feeling, of
thirst, panted in every bosom--REVENGE.

"Here it was that the son of Maj. Peyton, but fifteen years of age,
called to his father for help. A ball had shattered both his legs. 'When
we have beaten the enemy then I will help you,' answered Peyton, 'I have
other sons to lead to glory. Forward!' But the column had advanc