on's divisions, at Fairoaks. Richardson was
subsequently slain, at the second battle of Bull Run. He was called
"Fighting Dick," and on this particular morning was talking composedly
to his wife, as she was about to climb to the saddle. His tent had been
taken down, and soldiers were placing his furniture in a wagon. A
greater contrast I never remarked, than the ungainly, awkward, and
rough General, with his slight, trim, pretty companion. She had come to
visit him and had remained until commanded to retire. I fancied, though
I was separated some distance, that the little woman wept, as she kissed
him good by, and he followed her, with frequent gestures of good-hap,
till she disappeared behind the woods. I do not know that such prosaic
old soldiers are influenced by the blandishments of love; but "Fighting
Dick" never wooed death so recklessly as in the succeeding engagements
of New Market and Malvern Hills.

From Seven Pines to the right of Richardson's head-quarters, ran a line
of alternate breastwork, redoubt, and stockade. The best of these
redoubts was held by Captain Petit, with a New York Volunteer battery. I
had often talked with Petit, for he embodied, as well as any man in the
army, the martial qualifications of a volunteer. He despised order.
Nobody cared less for dress and dirt. I have seen him, sitting in a hole
that he hollowed with his hands, tossing pebbles and dust over his head,
like another Job. He had profound contempt for any man and any system
that was not "American." I remember asking him, one day, the meaning of
the gold lace upon the staff hats of the Irish brigade.

"Means run like shell!" said Petit, covering me with dirt.

"Don't the Irish make the best soldiers?" I ventured.

"No!" said Petit, raining pebbles, "I had rather have one American than
ten Irishmen."

The fighting of Petit was contrary to all rule; but I think that he was
a splendid artillery-man. He generally mounted the rampart, shook his
fist at the enemy, flung up his hat, jumped down, sighted the guns
himself, threw shells with wonderful accuracy, screamed at the gunners,
mounted the rampart again, halloed, and, in short, managed to do more
execution, make more noise, attract more attention and throw more dirt
than anybody in the army. His redoubt was small, but beautifully
constructed, and the parapet was heaped with double rows of sandbags. It
mounted rifled field-pieces, and, at most times, the gunners were lying
unde