"William," a tall, consumptive servant, whose walk reminded
me of a stubborn convict's, in the treadmill, and ordered him to scrape
me, which was done, accordingly, with a case-knife. The young officer
proposed to dip me in the well and wring me well out, but I demurred,
mainly on the ground that some time would be so consumed, and that my
horse was waiting on the other side. He at once said that he would send
for it, and called "Pat," a civilian servant, in military blue, who was
nursing a negro baby with an eye, it seemed, to obtain favor with the
mother. The willingness of the man surprised me, but he said that it was
a short cut of four miles to the railroad bridge, which had been
repaired and floored, and that he could readily recover the animal and
return at three o'clock. My benefactor, the officer, then mixed a julep,
which brought a comfortable glow to my face, and said, without parley--

"You're a reporter, on the----"

He said further, that he had been Coroner's Surgeon in New York for many
years, and had learned to know the representatives of newspapers, one
from the other, by generic manner and appearance. Three correspondents
rode by at the time, neither of whom he knew personally, but designated
them promptly, with their precise connections. In short, we became
familiar directly, and he told me that his name was O'Gamlon,
Quartermaster of Meagher's Irish brigade, Sumner's corps. He was
established with the elderly gentleman,--whose name was Michie,--and had
two horses in the stable, at hand. He proposed to send me to the field,
with a note of introduction to the General, and another to Colonel
Baker, of the New York 88th (Irish), who could show me the lines and
relics of battle, and give me the lists of killed, wounded, and missing.
I repaired to his room, and arrayed myself in a fatigue officer's suit,
with clean underclothing, after which, descending, I climbed into his
saddle, and dashed off, with a mettlesome, dapper pony. The railroad
track was about a mile from the house, and the whole country, hereabout,
was sappy, dank, and almost barren. Scrub pines covered much of the
soil, and the cleared fields were dotted with charred stumps. The houses
were small and rude; the wild pigs ran like deer through the bushes and
across my path; vultures sailed by hundreds between me and the sky; the
lane was slippery and wound about slimy pools; the tree-tops, in many
places, were splintered by ball and shell. I