ascertained, of about 5,000 men. The Federal loss was less than 2,000. Although so near Atlanta, much of the battlefield is covered with a tangle of woods or with poorly cultivated farm land. It is a roughly wild country; and one, as he crosses the creeks and clambers up the banks of the ravines, can appreciate the difficulties which both armies experienced in fighting over such broken land. Collier's Mill, where there was greater loss of life than at any other single point, has disappeared, but there still remains a section of stone retaining wall to mark the spot where it stood. Though disheartened by defeat, the Confederates were still ready to fight for the possession of the city that was the immediate object of Sherman's campaign. On July 22d, occurred the battle of Atlanta. McPherson, with the left wing of the army, had advanced to a point east and a little south of the city, and upon his command fell the Confederate attack. Taken between two lines, that portion of the Federal army was to be captured or destroyed. The assault was vehement and unexpected, and for a time could not be checked. McPherson himself, galloping to the location of the firing, came unexpectedly upon a body of the enemy, and was shot and killed. There was desperate hand-to-hand fighting in the trenches, and at times the assaulted troops could scarcely tell whether to face to the front or rear, for the enemy were all about them. The Confederates, however, with a loss of perhaps some 10,000 men, were defeated. The loss of the Federals was probably about 3,500. The fighting was plainly heard in the city. The thundering of the cannon, the rattling discharges of musketry, and even the shouts and cheers of the men, came to the ears of the women who tremblingly waited at home. Even after this, the Confederates still firmly held the city. Deciding upon a complete change of plan, Sherman advanced his right flank, and, withdrawing his left, placed a large portion of his troops westward of the city. There, at Ezra Church, on the 28th of July, the Confederates made another tremendous assault, but were again beaten off. Still unsuccessful in getting into Atlanta, Sherman now came to an entirely new resolution, which was, to leave a strong body of his troops, well intrenched, at the crossing of the Chattahoochee, and with all the remainder, the great bulk of his army, cut loose from communications, and plant himself well to the southward of the city. From his new position, he would be able to effectually cut off Hood's railroad communication, and compel him to evacuate the town. On August 25th, the movement began. Hood realized that he was in peril, and moved his own army toward that of Sherman, and on the 1st of September, at Jonesboro, fifteen miles south of the city, there was another hard struggle. The campaign was now really at an end, and a most arduous campaign it had been. The record of the 118th Ohio may give some idea of the trying times that the soldiers experienced. For 121 consecutive days that regiment was within hearing of hostile firing every day but one. For sixty consecutive days they were more or less actually under fire. For one particular week there was probably not even the space of five minutes during which they were out of hearing of the shot and shell. Soon after midnight of the 1st of September, there was heard the noise of heavy explosions in the direction of Atlanta, and Sherman anxiously wondered what could be the explanation. A lady who lived in Atlanta at that time told me of the scenes of that dismal afternoon and night of September 1st. The Confederate garrison marched out, calling "good-byes" in as cheerful tones as possible to the helpless. women, who, weeping and sad, were left behind. And then, after midnight, when the women and children had lain down to seek for a little rest and slumber, all were awakened by terrific and continued explosions. This lady's home was but about half a mile from the magazines, and she tells of how the bullets rained down upon her house like hail, and how awfully grand were the thunders and the flashing lights of the tremendous explosions. Unable, in the haste of his retreat, to save the magazines, Hood had blown them up rather than let them fall into the hands of the enemy. Slocum advanced and took possession of the city, and sent a message to Sherman telling him of what had occurred. The news was received by officers and men of the army with profound gratification, and by many with almost extrava Τ" gant joy. Even the stately and usually undemonstrative Thomas snapped his fingers and whistled and almost danced, while the soldiers laughed and cheered, and could not sufficiently express their delight. Regarding the total losses from Chattanooga to Atlanta, there is much doubt, as each army was desirous of making its own losses seem light, and those of the enemy heavy. It would seem, however, that the Federal loss must have been at least 30,000 men, while Federal authorities claim that the Confederate loss must also have been in the neighborhood of that amount. Some, however, claim that the united losses of the two armies amounted to very much more than 60,000, and it is unfortunate that there is no way of deciding the question. SCOUTING IN THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY. IIE life of a scout in the lines of the enemy is a dangerous and very exciting one, especially with the cavalry. And in the valley along the winding banks of the Shenandoah were enacted many scenes of dash and daring which will make the warm blood course quicker in the veins of many an old veteran trooper who participated in them, and who yet survives their memories. Although nearly thirty long years have passed away, it seems but yesterday that we can recall the bugle's charge at Brandy Station, Aldie, Winchester, Fisher's Hill, Kearnstown, Cedar Creek, and all along the pike from Harper's Ferry to Staunton, across the Massennutten Range, through the Luray Valley, over the North Mountains to the Moorfield Valley, where, along the fertile banks of the south branch of the Potomac, many fat beeves were gathered to feed the Army of Northern Virginia; recall many desperate encounters with Sheridan and his men, with such leaders as Stuart, Fitz Lee, Rosser, Imboden, Mosby, Harry Gilmor, the two Whites, McNeil, and others. "Little Phil" had his hands full when he had occasion to cross our path. The lower counties of Clarke, Jefferson, Loudoun, Farquier, Fairfax, and the lower Shenandoth and along the banks of the Occoquan and Opequan, was called "Mosby's Confederacy," and invaders, even the redoubtable Phil himself, had to feel and fight his way, harassed and disputed at every step. But I am frank to admit that on all occasions when we received any intimation of the advance of Sheridan into our territory we felt pretty well convinced that there would be hard and sharp work ahead for us. But it is interesting to note that we did not always run away from him, as is proved by the fact that a large number of our men, of Mosby's, Gilmor's, and McNeil's commands, were fully equipped with Sheridan's horses, saddles, Spencers, etc., and good ones they were, too; for it is well known that General Sheridan's troopers were better equipped for service than any other cavalry in the field. To possess one of his outfits was our greatest ambition, and I will relate a very "close call" a portion of our command had on one occasion while trying to gratify it: In the spring of '63, as well as I can remember, Captain Nick Burke, of Harry Gilmor's command, left Mount Jackson, where we were encamped, with twenty men, dismounted, for scout duty, and intending, if possible, to capture horses from Sheridan, whose command at that time was in camp at and around Martinsburg. Our plan was to proceed cautiously by night, keeping under cover by day, so as not to be observed by any one in sympathy with the enemy who would betray us, or by Jessie Scouts, a well-known and dangerous enemy to Union and Confederate scouts alike, who were always on the alert to waylay, murder, and rob any who came in their way. This treacherous class of pirates, generally comprised of deserters from the armies of both North and South, too cow ardly to face the music on either side, can well be remembered by the old veterans, both blue and gray, who served in the lower Shenandoah during the last year of the struggle. One incident in connection with those men, described in Major Harry Gilmor's book entitled "Four Years in the Saddle," will be read with interest: We were in the saddle, leisurely proceeding on one of our expeditions, when from the thick foliage that lined the roadside came a faint curl of smoke and the sharp report of a rifle, fired at our leader with murderous intent, striking him with earnest aim in his left breast over his heart, when, by one of those singular instances of fate, his life was saved by a pack of playing-cards in his breast-pocket. Momentarily staggered, he instantly recovered, and retribution came swift and sure to his almost hidden foe. With accurate aim from one of a pair of short, single-barreled Derringers, which he always carried and with which he was very expert, he fired, and, although partly a chance shot, a hurried search a few moments later revealed his enemy breathing his last, clutching at the herbage around him in his death-struggles. A short time after this, seven of those murderous wretches were captured and hung in retaliation for crimes committed by them. But I am digressing. Finally arriving at our destination, a place suited to our purpose, we went into ambush at a spot called "Ash Hollow," between Winchester and Berryville, to lie in wait for any straggling bands of cavalry who passed us, and who were not too large for us to attack. Having the advantage of sudden surprise, we almost invariably met with success, without resorting to bloodshed. A dense growth of ivy bushes lined each side of the road and completely obscured us from sight. We were only a few feet away from the edge of the hard, white pike, winding along, looking from the bushes like a line of silver gleaming in the moonlight. We grasped our carbines and revolvers, and silently awaited the approach of the enemy. Many large bands passed us, mounted on splendid chargers, making us more eager to secure some of them at any cost, but as yet they were too strong for us, and we were taking no chances. We could not afford to do so, as our defeat meant the wiping out of our little band. On they passed, leaving us once more to silence and gloom, unbroken save by the plaintive song of the night-birds and the chirping of crickets. Finally our ears again caught the sound of horsemen in the distance, approaching from the direction of Winchester. They came leisurely on until we could readily distinguish their number, which appeared about thirty wellmounted men. Silently whispering, "Now, boys, get ready," our leader gave the command to glide slowly and cautiously to the edge of the road, ready to spring out upon the unsuspecting foe. On they came, some singing, some laughing, and when seemingly they were not more than twenty yards away from us, suddenly there came a suppressed whisper from our leader and a warning signal to lie still. Away in the distance could be heard the sound and clash of approaching squadrons. A few seconds more and our fate would have been sealed, as the party we were about to attack proved to be merely the advance guard of a large body of cavalry returning from an expedition up the valley as far as New Market. You can well imagine our feelings and chagrin when obliged to lie there, afraid to move a muscle, watching those handsome chargers as they passed us. It was a trying and exciting moment for us, and it seemed as if they would never get past. We could fully realize the true meaning of the sentiment that "distance lends enchantment to the view," and we were exceedingly anxious to get safely away from "Ash Hollow," which eventually we did, sadder and wiser men, with all the fight knocked out of us for the time being. We succeeded in reaching camp safely, as foot-sore foot cavalry, to wait for a more congenial and convenient season. D MEADE AT GETTYSBURG. RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF THE GREAT CONTEST. URING a recent visit to Petersburg, the writer called up the fact that two very important advantages were gained by the Union forces on Independence Day -Vicksburg and Gettysburg. In the latter case a Philadelphian, Major-General George Gordon Meade, was the victor, while at Vicksburg Major-General Pemberton, an accomplished native of the Quaker City, was vanquished. In the course of the conversation, the query came up as to the sentimental phase of these two great events. They had a most profound effect upon the people of both sections, but in the North they seemed to say, "These victories show you the augury of the end-the triumph of the Union cause." This was accentuated by the fact that, previously, the advantages were largely and numerically to be credited to the Confederates. Was there any design in bringing on these affairs? I have been told that General U. S. Grant wearied the patience of his subordinates with his delays at Vicksburg, but abundantly requited them for their forbearance by his triumph on the Fourth of July, and probably doubled the effect of the victory in the army and among the people by having victory consummated on the natal day of national independence. My Confederate friend said he was in Richmond at the time that General Lee's campaign was under consideration, and that it was understood that the Confederates were to advance to Harrisburg as a feint, and suddenly concentrate in Maryland, move on the capital, and take possession of it on the Fourth of July. As soon as this was accomplished, President Davis was to have proclaimed his terms of an equitable settlement of the difficulty. My friend is still of the opinion that there was this sentimental element of design all through the scheme, and he believes that the result was only another verification of the adage that man proposes, but God disposes. This leads me to the field that virtually settled the war between the States. Not long ago, the surviving great actors of that portentous struggle went on the site of the carnage and fought the battle over again in their minds. As is usually the case, General Meade was severely criticised for not following the Confederates after the battle. "Had General Grant been in command," said the venerable General Longstreet to the one-armed Howard, "he would have crushed us." Possibly he would have done so, but General Trumbull has recently observed very shrewdly that on an occasion not entirely unlike-Shiloh-General Grant did not follow up Beauregard, after Johnson's death, and crush the victor of Manassas. Technically, the writer was at the battle of Gettysburg; that is, he was within the sound of the guns. Having been for a long time a war correspondent, he became familiar with the factors that controlled the battle. Take a glance at the situation. Word came that Lee was advancing northward to take the offensive. It was plain his object was a demonstration against the capital of the country. It was still the policy of the government to plug up all the holes, so as to keep the Confederates from running through the North as General Sherman scurried through Georgia. So, while the old Army of the Potomac was being mustered in Maryland in a hurry, an army of defence was quickly organized on the Susquehanna, under the command of Generals Darius N. Couch and Napoleon B. Dana. General Meade was only nominally in command, because he was not like Grant-supreme. Meade was a great captain, an excellent organizer, a careful, able leader, but he was modest, unassertive, and, above all, obedient to his superiors. He had many commanders, and among them was the irascible and arbitrary Secretary of War. Meade really did not know exactly what was going on at the front, for he was astonished when the brave but rash General Reynolds precipitated the fighting beyond the famous battle-field. Instantly, however, he acted, and with a result that proved his wisdom. He put in the van the Chevalier Bayard of his army, "Hancock, the Superb." That dashing officer, who was one of the few who was ever first in the fight but never foolhardy, selected the vantage ground and held it, and so disposed of his troops that when General Meade came up he could only approve of everything that had been done. For a few moments he glanced over the field, and from that time forward he seemed to have perfect control of affairs. He was remarkably cool and self-possessed, and ever appeared to be confident that this time the Army of the Potomac was not to be whipped, even by the steelmuscled veterans of the South, who were confident of success, because of their many triumphs. The battle ended after three days of bloodshed and the Confederates withdrew-repulsed but not conquered; beaten but not dismayed; broken by the murderous fusillade of the grandest park of field artillery ever arrayed, but they still were unconquered. They were yet full of fight. The law of war said they should have been followed and destroyed. "Had you come on us then, flushed with your success, there would have been resistance, of course, but finally it would have been a foot-race for the fastnesses," said a distinguished Confederate officer. Most of General Meade's men had been in the fight-so had all the Confederates. Here they were even, but the latter were hungry, footsore, and on the retreat, having failed in their object after long, terrible marches and desperate fighting for three days. A few miles north, there was an army of fresh Union troops, forty thousand strong, with enough re-enlisted veterans to steady the lines. They were within sound of the guns of Gettysburg and ought to have been in the battle, or at any rate in the pursuit of the flying Confederates. It is a matter of record that Generals Dana and Couch had no orders to move forward, but had they assumed the offensive they would have been warranted by the results. They did not move, although they must have known the situation of affairs. The writer had been caught by some Confederates moving south from Hagerstown, and so learned that Lee's army was in full retreat. He telegraphed this news and all the other intelligence he could gather to the New York Herald, for which paper he was correspondent, and it confirmed the news of the Union victory, then unknown to him, to such an extent that it was given first place in the paper and recorded in those lively days as a "scoop." As was observed before, General Meade was ruled from Washington. He had done all he was ordered to do: he had saved the capital. He had done more: he had beaten a hitherto victorious veteran enemy; he had repelled the invasion. He concluded to "let well enough alone." Had he done more he might have been superseded. He had not gained the supremacy of Grant. He could not tell President Lincoln that Secretary Stanton must mind his own business and not interfere with grand tactics or operations in the field. These were potent reasons for General Meade's actions. He was too good a soldier to exceed his instructions; too patriotic to risk too much at that critical moment; too perfect a gentleman to assume anything more than the performance of duty, and hence he modestly excused his determination not to follow hard on the retreating Confederates by reciting the exhausted condition of his brave veterans of the Army of the Potomac, who had climaxed that army's marvellous record of endurance, bravery, and devotion, physically and mentally, by winning a grand triumph, without prestige, and after having been experimented with by a dozen commanders, for some of whom they were forced into a lack of respect and confidence if not a feeling of actual contempt. FREEDOM'S BANNER. D. J. DONAHOE. While the stars in the blue remain, And the rosy shafts of morn With their peaceful light shall cleave the night For the day that is newly born,— For the hope of the day that is born, So long shall Freedom reign! And the red, white and blue, as her banner true, Shall float over land and main. And the waves of the surging sea, And the winds that sweep the sky Shall sing of her birth to the listening earth, While her colors are streaming high,— While her banner is waving on high, No traitor shall there be ! For Freedom's hand shall guard our land, |