and
seemed to be ready for action at any moment. This was Grand Turkey Bend,
and the rising ground on which I stood, was known as "Malvern Hills." A
farm-house lay to my left, and repairing thither, I cast myself from the
nag, and lay down in the shady yard, thankful that I had reached the
haven, and only solicitous now to escape the further privations of
McClellan's Peninsular Campaign.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE HOSPITAL TRANSPORT.

An earnest desire now took possession of me, to be the first of the
correspondents to reach New York. The scenes just transpired had been
unparalleled in the war, and if, through me, the ---- should be the
first to make them public, it would greatly redound to my credit.
Perhaps no profession imparts an enthusiasm in any measure kindred to
that of the American Newsgatherer. I was careless of the lost lives and
imperilled interests, the suffering, the defeat: no emotions either of
the patriot or the man influenced me. I only thought of the _eclat_ of
giving the story to the world, and nurtured an insane desire to make to
Fortress Monroe, by some other than the common expedient. That this was
a paltry ambition I know; but I write what happened, and to the
completion of my sketch of a correspondent, this is necessary to be
said. I found Glumley at the old mansion referred to, and stealthily
suggested to him the seizing of an open boat, whereby we might row down
to the Fortress. He rejected it as impracticable, but was willing to
hazard a horseback ride down the Peninsula. I knew that this would not
do, and after a short time I continued my journey down the riverside,
hopeful of finding some transport or Despatch boat. I was now in Charles
City County, and the river below me was dotted with woodland islands. I
soon got upon the main road to Harrison's Point or Bar, and followed the
stream of ambulances and supply teams for more than an hour. At last we
reached a diverging lane, through which we passed to a landing, close to
a fine dwelling, whose style of architecture I may denominate, the
"Gothic run mad." An old cider-press was falling into rottenness on the
lawn; four soldiers were guarding the well, that the mob might not
exhaust its precious contents, and between some negro-huts and the brink
of the bluff, stood a cluster of broad-armed trees, beneath whose shade
the ambulance-drivers were depositing the wounded.

I have made these chapters sufficiently hideous, without venturing to