ing of our own lives."

"A new and better version," said I; "to-morrow some shaping will be
done. What effect on the general result to nations and the world does
one battle, more or fewer, have?"

"Some events are counterbalanced by others, seemingly, and the result is
nothing; but every event is important to some life."

"Captain, Youmans says he got to the top of the hill over yonder, and
that we could have occupied it but that our men were recalled."

"It would have made little difference," said he. "The enemy would only
have intrenched farther off. I dare say they are digging at
this moment."

Then he said, "Go back to your place, Jones, and never fail to do your
full duty. I am serious, because war is serious. The more we have to do,
the more must we nerve ourselves to do it. We must collect all our
energies, and each man must do the work of two. Impress the men strongly
with the necessity for courage and endurance."

The full moon was shining in high heaven. I bade the Captain good night.

* * * * *

On the morning of July 2d, Company A still lay behind the brigade, which
was in line a little to the south of the Seminary. The sun shone hot.
The skirmishers were busy in front. Artillery roared at our left and far
to our right. At times shells came over us. A caisson near by exploded.
In the afternoon a great battle was raging some two miles to our right.
Longstreet's corps had gone in.

At four o'clock I saw some litter-bearers moving to the rear. On the
litter was a body. The litter-bearers halted. A few men gathered around.
Then the men of Company H began to stir. Some of them approached the
litter. Who was it? I became anxious. The men came slowly back--one at a
time--grim.

I asked who it was that had been killed.

"Captain Haskell," they said.

My tongue failed me, as my pen does now. What! Captain Haskell? Our
Captain dead? Who had ever thought that he might be killed? I now knew
that I had considered him like Washington--invulnerable. He had passed
through so many dangers unhurt, had been exposed to so many deaths that
had refused to demand him, had so freely offered his life, had been so
calm and yet so valiant in battle, had been so worshipped by all the
left wing of the regiment and by the battalion, had been so wise in
council and so forceful in the field, had, in fine, been one of those we
instinctively feel are heroes immortal! And now he was dead? It could