n the summit, where the rebels had made so determined a
resistance, their forms were stretched upon the green sward and in the
dusty road, stiff and cold. Many more had come to the hospital severely
injured, maimed for life or mortally wounded.

The little brigade, numbering only a thousand men when it went into
action, had lost two hundred and fifty of its number.

During the night the raiders made their escape toward Rockville. The
prisoners left in our hands told us that they had anticipated an easy
victory in front of Washington, believing that the forts were defended
only by convalescents and quartermaster's men, and, when they saw the
white crosses of the old Sixth corps, they were seized with
consternation. They now understood that the city was guarded by veterans
who had acquired, in the rebel army, a disagreeable reputation.

While the battle was in progress, President Lincoln stood upon the
parapet of the fort watching, with eager interest, the scene before him.
Bullets came whistling around, and one severely wounded a surgeon who
stood within three feet of the President. Mrs. Lincoln entreated him to
leave the fort, but he refused; he, however, accepted the advice of
General Wright to descend from the parapet and watch the battle from a
less exposed position.

Cavalry was sent in the morning to ascertain the direction of the flight
of the enemy, but the infantry remained quietly awaiting events.

We gathered our dead comrades from the field where they had fallen, and
gave them the rude burial of soldiers on the common near Fort Stevens.
None of those high in authority, who had come out to see them give up
their lives for their country, were present to pay the last honors to
the dead heroes. No officer of state, no lady of wealth, no citizen of
Washington was there; but we laid them in their graves within sight of
the capital, without coffins, with only their gory garments and their
blankets around them. With the rude tenderness of soldiers, we covered
them in the earth; we marked their names with our pencils on the little
head-boards of pine, and turned sadly away to other scenes.

But though no concourse of citizens followed the patriots to their
humble resting place, though no bands wailed the solemn dirge, and no
casket but the earth inclosed their remains, their deeds were not
forgotten. Their memory was enshrined in the hearts of the people; and
after a few weeks their remains were exhumed from thei