was accompanying Franklin's corps to reinforce us, took me across his saddle in front of him and ferried me over. When I reached the opposite bank I was much rejoiced to find my servant "Joe" quite recovered from his fright, and delighted to see me alive. With his aid I reached the Keedysville Church Hospital. The wounded were lying in the little grove that partially surrounded the church, each poor wretch waiting his turn for examination. When my turn came, they took me up to a seat that stood facing the pulpit, but perpendicular to the others and near which was an open window, As we walked up the aisle we splashed along in the blood that had run down from the amputations that lay on boards placed on the pews on either side. The operating surgeons were in their shirtsleeves, which were rolled up, leaving their bare arms exposed and covered with blood, giving them the appearance of a bevy of butchers in a Chicago abattoir. While sitting awaiting the surgeon, every few minutes an attendant would bring past me, to the open window, an arm, a leg, or a mangled hand, which he pitched into a little trench dug under the window for the purpose.

66

Pretty soon a young surgeon came up and, grabbing me by the shoulder, said interrogatively: "Shoulder smashed?" A sickening feeling came over me as I replied that "it certainly would be if it were not." Bring this man some whisky," said he, as I reeled in my seat. A glass of whisky nearly full and drank down neat, did not seem to affect me any more than would so much water, the pain was so intense. Then the young surgeon thrust his finger into the hole where the bullet had entered, and with his other fore-finger plunged into the place of its exit, he rummaged around for broken bones, splinters, etc., until I swooned away again. Fortunately I knew no more about what transpired until I found myself again under the trees outside and Joe fanning me with his old slouched hat. The next two days were occupied with walking, riding on horseback, or on an old army wagon or ambulance, as we could catch opportunity, till we finally got to Hagerstown. Here, stretched on some clean straw in a box car, with hundreds more, we were transported to Harrisburg. While waiting in this railway station, a Philadelphia physician, named Stroud, who carried his own hospital supplies in a basket on his arm, gave my wounds a much-needed dressing. He also made me take a few mouthfuls of soup, though the fever had commenced

and took away my appetite. As I had not a cent of money, I was trusting to my luck to get through to Pittsburg, but I confess that after we had gotten under way, and I saw the conductor coming, and every few minutes giving that awful warning, that fell like a chunk of lead on my ears, "Tickets!" my courage, or cheek, nearly gave out.

Finally, however, when he came and I had told him how I was wounded and ill, and wanted to get home and would send him the money for our tickets immediately upon my getting there, he gave me his address and the amount, and refused, absolutely, to take my name, though I assured him that if he had it, and I failed to pay, I would be dismissed from the service.

When we reached Pittsburg, we found that our train did not leave until one o'clock that night, it being Sunday. So we wandered around all the afternoon, I with a burning fever, and Joe with a hunger common to a healthy negro. But I had no money to get him

anything to eat; for myself I did not want anything. In the evening, as we stood on the sidewalk, I heard the familiar tap of a drum corps as it gave the step to a body of troops I saw marching by. A strange thing about these men was that though they looked like soldiers from the front, they had no arms. I finally inquired of a passing file-closer who they were. He told me they were a part of an Ohio regiment that had been captured by Jackson at Harper's Ferry and paroled. The colonel was an old friend, formerly a captain of the 4th Ohio, Col. H. B. Banning, afterward an M. C. from Ohio. As soon as I learned this, I hastened up to the head of the regiment, and, finding Banning, told him the trouble I was in. He had no money himself, but said if we wanted anything to eat, to join him, as they were on their way to a supper that was provided for them by the ladies of Pittsburg. We accepted, and Joe soon had a square meal. We then went to the station, and as it was nearly time for the train to leave, I started to go on it as I had done at Harrisburg, when I was thunderstruck to find that our entrance was cut off by a picket fence at least ten feet high. At the gate a keeper examined the tickets. I think I never before had such a feeling as came over me then, while I stood and saw the passengers going aboard that train. It was of no use to approach the man at the gate; and to ask the man who was selling tickets to trust me for them was equally absurd.

Already so weak that I could hardly stand, with a fever burning up my very brain, this unforeseen dilemma nearly paralyzed me. It was almost time for the train to start, when I saw a large man come bustling down from the ticket office. He had a tall, old-fashioned hat pulled well back on his head; his black frockcoat showed several inches below his linen duster, and he carried a flat, old-fashioned oilcloth grip-sack. As he came near me, I caught him by the arm and asked him if I could speak a word with him. How my heart went down into my boots as I thought of the hundreds of worthless tramps who had said almost those identical words to me! "What do you want ?" he replied, almost gruffly. I could not speak, but something in my face or expression caught his eye, and, coming closer, his manner changed, and he asked me in the kindliest way possible what he could do for me. It seemed like an age before I could recover myself sufficiently to explain what I wished. My voice choked; the tears filled my eyes, and if he had spoken one harsh word, I am sure I should have given up and fallen in my tracks. The unkind word was never spoken. He proved to be a man with a heart as large and old-fashioned as the gripsack he carried. Would I have money, and if so, how much? But I didn't want money; all I wanted was two tickets to Cleveland, for which I would repay him as soon as I arrived there. Where did I stop when in Cleveland? At the Weddell, and that was where he stopped; but I must have some money for food en route. I was too ill to eat, and Joe must wait, I explained, and I positively would not take a cent of money. With this he purchased the tickets, wrote his name in my diary, "A. Hoag, Minneapolis, Minn.," and still demurring at my alleged stubbornness in not accepting any money for incidentals, gave me the tickets, and we went aboard the train. When we reached Cleveland, I jumped from our train and ran across to the Sandusky train, where I knew the U. S. mail agent, a man named Ingersol, who had a brother in my regiment. Finding him, I

simply assured him that his brother was alive and uninjured, and begged him to let me have what money he had with him, if less than a hundred dollars. He gave me all I wanted, and, as his train moved out, I ran over to where the carriages were and made a bargain with a hackman by which he agreed to overtake and pass the regular omnibus that was already on its way to the Weddell House. We got to the hotel first, and after I had registered I went immediately to the curb, and stood there waiting when the omnibus pulled up and my benefactor alighted. When I met him with the money I owed him in my hand, the tears that rolled down his rough cheeks showed that he must have felt that exquisite pleasure which comes to a man who has done a good and charitable act and finds that it is appreciated.

The next day found me at the little village twenty-five miles from Cleveland that I called home, where, in a comfortable bed and surrounded with every care that devoted friends could give, I passed through the weeks of delirious fever that always accompanies the healing of gun-shot wounds like these. Many times during that weird period did I, in imagination, fight again my duel with the butternut-coated Confederate in the sunken road. And when at last the fever had gone, and with it the fantastic unrealities which had filled my brain, I rejoiced to remember that I had missed my aim. I afterwards learned that when our troops had finally captured that bloody lane, they found a few of its occupants alive and uninjured. sincerely hope that my antagonist was one of the fortunate few, and that he still survives. If he is living, it is not too much to imagine that, as he sometimes sits in the shade of the magnolias which surround his Southern home, he tells his children and grand-children how, on that September day, now more than thirty years ago, he stood in that appalling deathtrap, "The Sunken Road of Antietam," and with his trusty rifle shot a "Yankee" officer who stood under the folds of the old flag, as it were, on the bank above him.

I

BRIGADIER-GENERAL W. E. CTRONG, GENERAL, MCPHERSON'S INSPECTOR-GENERAL. CRDERING A COLONEL TO PLACE HIS COMMAND IN ACTION

D

OWN on the coast of North Carolina, where the Cape Fear River makes a bend, forming a fine bay four miles wide, just before rushing into the sea, the town of Southport (formerly Smithville) lies. amidst a beautiful grove of live-oak trees. Here I found my little world, bounded on one side by pine forests, and on the other by the great Atlantic Ocean, over which I often longingly gazed and wondered what was beyond the line where sky and sea seemed to meet.

Across the bay, on the north side of the river's mouth, was old Fort Caswell, built many years before I was born. My grandfather had assisted in superintending its construction; and the old place, with its citadel, long brick galleries, drawbridge, and moat, was at once a pleasure and a mystery to me. In the late war this fort, and one on Smith's Island, forming the southeastern boundary of the river's mouth, served to intimidate the too venturesome blockading steamers that lay off the port to prevent the entrance of ships which brought supplies for the Confederacy.

When President Lincoln, on the 19th of April, 1861, issued his proclamation for the blockading of the coast of the Southern States, the Carolina coast was not included. It was not until the following July that this, the most important port on the Southern coast, was declared blockaded, and the Federal steamer "Monticello" sent to intercept the venturesome traders.

Being dependent on England for most of its foreign supplies, the large production of cotton in the South was a source of much wealth to the English traders, who, owing to the immense profit, took great risk in running the blockade. As the neutrality law prevented direct trade. with England, the cotton was taken to intermediate ports, and there transferred to its true destination. The principal intermediate points for the neutral trade were Nassau, Bermuda, Havana, and Matamoras. Nassau was the most important of these; but Bermuda, though second in extent of its trade, was nearest to the Cape Fear port, which was-especially in the latter part of the war-the place most sought by the blockade-runners, and became the scene of

stirring events, some of which were indelibly impressed upon my youthful mind.

When war was declared, I was too young to fully appreciate the situation; but when my father told me he was going away on the ocean to get a ship at Nassau, I was uneasy, and said that he might not come back again. I was an unconscious prophet; he never returned. When his ship arrived at Nassau, he was stricken with yellow-fever, and died soon after getting on shore. The vessel on which he went (the steamer "Kent") returned, and was destroyed by the blockaders. For years the framework of her walking-beam, sticking out of the water in front of our town, was a continual reminder of my great loss.

The clouds of war thickened; our little town was enlivened by some of the pageant of military display, and the bright uniforms and bands of music made a pleasure for the boys (who always dearly loved a soldier) that was only lessened by the continual expectation of the enemy, who, to our youthful imaginations, were monsters with horns. This belief was somewhat lessened when a Yankee prisoner was brought to Fort Johnson, located in the town. We did not look upon the poor, lonely fellow, far away from his friends in the North, as an object of pity. He was a curiosity, and although we saw he was as other men, we still doubted.

Never before nor since has the town Southport although over a hundred years old-experienced such prosperity as came to it in the blockade-running days. Danger from capture by the blockaders and the possibility of yellowfever abroad were outweighed, in the minds of numerous pilots of the town, by the golden harvest their services brought. Nearly $4000 were paid a pilot for each round trip, and the gold so quickly obtained was lavishly spent. Money was plentiful, and, although many communities in the South were suffering for the necessaries of life, the people of the ports of entry were well fed and clothed.

This gold was gotten at an enormous expense to the English people. Hundreds of vessels were destroyed by the blockaders, and it is said that, in two years after the war began, $10,000,000 were distributed by relief committees in Eng

land on account of the closing of the Lancashire cotton-mills, which, owing to the impossibility of securing the raw cotton, were compelled to shut down. For many years on the Carolina coast, for miles on either side of the Frying-Pan shoals, could be seen the wrecks of blockaderunners which had been run aground to escape capture.

Among these was the steamer " Condor," the pilot of which was my uncle. Although it was night, the low gray hull of this ship, which was difficult to see, even by moonlight, was detected, heading for the bar, by the blockader. Both vessels crowded on steam, and an exciting chase began. It did not take my uncle long to see that his charge was in great danger, and the solid shot tore up the water all around. Heading straight for the nearest land, which was near Fort Fisher, the "Condor " was driven at full speed and struck bottom, unfortunately, quite a distance from the shore. The enemy was pressing hard, and, being unable to use the boats, the "Condor's " crew were compelled to swim for life. Uncle had with him a Newfoundland puppy, which, though only a few months old, swam ashore through the breakers with his master. My uncle escaped the blockaders only to fall a victim to the malice of the Confederates, who accused him of uselessly running the ship ashore. He was unjustly imprisoned at Fort Johnson; then taken to Wilmington, and from there to Salisbury, while awaiting trial; and, but for the timely cessation of hostilities, no doubt he would have suffered a great wrong at the hands of the people he was honestly serving.

Another of my uncles had a very narrow escape. He had taken his vessel out, the profitable cargo of cotton had been disposed of, and, with the much-needed load of stores, the swift steamer was again nearing the Carolina coast. As usual upon these occasions, the night was dark, and they were creeping in with not a light showing, until near enough for the grand dash for the bar. Suddenly a rocket shot through the darkness, then another, and in a moment they were surrounded by the enemy. All was excitement on board the blockade-runner.

"We must surrender the ship," said the captain. "No, we will not," said uncle, and he rang the signal, "Full speed, ahead!"

The blockaders, seeing their supposed prize rushing through the water regardless of their presence, brought their guns to bear; and, although it was quite dark, they made it ex

ceedingly unpleasant for the bold craft. The shot screamed over and around the flying ship, and one entered the cabin and knocked a man's head off. But superior speed and daring courage won, and the blockade-runner anchored safely behind the guns of Fort Caswell.

For a time the presence of the armed blockaders, so near our town, was a source of much uneasiness to us; but the blazing rocket and the boom of cannon soon failed to alarm. We had three forts near us, and, after much hurried labor, the iron-clad ram "Raleigh" was built, and steamed down from Wilmington, making us feel doubly secure. This iron-clad security ere long went to the bottom of the river,-a veritable sinking fund"; and in after-years, at low tide, I sat upon the double-ended hope of war and caught fish. She had never won a battle, but she made an excellent fishing-place for flounders and sheepshead.

Although feeling, in the strength and number of our defences, secure from attack, we were rudely awakened one morning, as to the courage and ability of the enemy.

He

Captain Cushing, the daring commander of the "Monticello," determined to make us a visit. Though his ship was some miles from the river's mouth, on a night in February, 1864, he took a cutter, and, with several seamen, pulled quietly in around Fort Caswell, and up to the town two miles across the river. miles across the river. He captured a colored man, who willingly led the way to the commander's quarters, located within a stone's throw of the garrison. The commander was not in, having gone to Wilmington that day; but there was an officer in charge, who, upon learning that the enemy were after him, ran off to the woods, sans ceremonie et sans cullotte. was so badly alarmed himself that he did not take time to alarm the garrison; and when Cushing's presence became known the latter was pulling away as hard as sailors could work an oar. Signals were made to Fort Caswell to "intercept an enemy," but the darkness and the smallness of his cutter enabled the daring Federal to escape. He took one prisoner from the general's headquarters, but the object of the expedition was the capture of the general himself. It is needless to add that the citizens of our fortified village thereafter felt somewhat unsafe. They knew not at what time they would be awakened by the prod of a bayonet, accompanied by a command to get up and start seaward. But this alarm did not weigh upon