"I am surprised to hear from you, that my name has been mentioned in connection with the Thirty-fourth [a new regiment then forming]. I am obliged to my friends that may have suggested it; but I really do not wish to leave the Fifteenth. There is already evidence of too much desire on the part of officers to get leave of absence for the sake of procuring higher appointments in new regi

ments."

He was soon after rewarded for his constancy by being promoted to the surgeonship of his own regiment, on the resignation of Dr. Bates.

His personal adventures at Antietam cannot be made more interesting than in his own words, under date of September 24, 1862:

"As our brigade advanced in line of battle, under fire from the Rebel batteries, General Gorman (why I know not) ordered me to the left of the line, thus bringing me with the Thirty-fourth New York Regiment. This regiment became first engaged with the enemy, and partly from the deadly fire, and partly from the breaking of the regiment on its left (of another brigade), the Thirty-fourth gave way itself. With other officers, I did my best to rally the men, and only with partial success. General Sedgwick, who was at this part of the line, had his horse shot, and was wounded in two places. I looked at his wounds, and advised him to go to the rear; but he would not, and I then offered him my horse, but his wrist was broken, and he could not well ride. . . ..

"During this time the rest of the brigade had become separated, and were far to the right. I rode hither and thither all over the field, trying in vain to find the Fifteenth. At last I stumbled upon all that was left, about one hundred and seventy-five men. [They went into battle with five hundred and eighty-three men, and lost three hundred and twenty-one killed and wounded, and twenty-four missing.]

".... The Colonel desired me to try and get the body of Captain Simonds, which had been brought part way back. Taking an ambulance, I found it, and while putting it in was called some way to the front to see Colonel Wristar of the California Regiment..... While hastily dressing their wounds, word was brought that the

Rebel skirmishers were close upon us. Colonel Wristar thought he could walk, but while helping him out he fainted, and I had just brought him to, when his own surgeon appeared.

“.... The fight was expected to be renewed the next morning, but both sides rested on their arms. A lot of our killed and wounded lay beyond our lines, and within those of the Rebels. I made several vain efforts to get at them, and particularly to find Tom Spurr, riding even beyond our own pickets, and within halfgunshot distance of the Rebel pickets, who were in plain sight. Towards night I went, with Colonel Lee of the Twentieth, and a flag of truce, over to the Rebels to get permission to bury our dead and carry off the wounded. We parleyed some time with several staff officers, and finally with General Fitz-Hugh Lee himself; but permission would not be given, unless an arrangement had been made between the commanders of the two forces themselves.

"During the night the enemy retreated, and early in the morning we went over and found our dead and wounded, an awful sight. The Rebels, however, had been kind to our wounded, and got them in and around a barn with large haystacks."

Surgeon Haven's last hasty note (from Falmouth, opposite Fredericksburg) bears date December 9th. At the close of it, he thus refers to the preparatory orders for the disastrous battle of the 13th:

"We have this moment received orders to have to-morrow morning, right after breakfast, three days' rations issued to officers and men, and sixty rounds of ammunition to each man. This looks like moving, and it remains to be seen what will be done."

What was done can be read, not only in his own epitaph, but in the broken hearts and desolate homes of, alas! how many. A portion of the sad story can best be told in the words of his superior officer, Surgeon Sherman. After speaking of his "sacrifices to duty," and "utter disregard of danger," he says:

"Witnessing his self-exposure at the battle of Antietam, I had, as Medical Director of the Second Division, detailed your son, in a written order, in the event of a battle, to repair to the Division

Hospital, and give his services there instead of in the field with his regiment. When I communicated this order to your son, he evidently felt disappointed. He expressed a strong choice to go wherever his regiment went; and when the column to which the Fifteenth Massachusetts was attached was about to pass over the bridge in front of Fredericksburg, he was expostulated with, and reminded of the previous order; but he asked as a special favor to be allowed to go with his regiment, and said that as soon as the fight was done, he would return to the hospital and remain there."

Only a short time after, while marching through the streets of the city by the side of his regiment, toward the position assigned it in that day's battle, he was struck in the leg by a casual shell from the enemy's batteries. Taken back to the nearest hospital, it was for a time hoped that an amputation might save his life; but he never rallied from the shock. And so, cheerful in his agony, upheld by the consciousness of duty performed, in that shattered building, even then rent by an occasional shell, adding fresh confusion and horror to the scene, surrounded by the dying and dead, amid the groans of those to assuage whose early pangs he had ventured and suffered all, the patriot passed away; and his gentle spirit, answering to the roll-call of the mighty cannonade, took its place in the great army which that night encamped in the heavenly fields.

The following verses, inscribed to the memory of Dr. Haven, appeared in the Worcester Spy, of December 30, 1862, and were understood to have been written by Rev. D. A. Wasson:

"With skilful touch he turned away

Death's wishful hand from wounded men ;
But when was done that doleful day,
The living laid him with the slain.

"Thy hurt to heal, O native land!

What mortal might he did and dared;
And when all service of his hand
Seemed not enough, his heart he bared,

"And laid his life upon thy hurt,
By losing all, to make thee whole;
But could not lose his high desert
And place on Memory's record-roll.

"And when that sacred roll she calls,

The word, perchance, will reach his ear,
And he shall from the eternal halls,
Among God's angels, answer, 'Here!'

"We will not deem his life was brief,
For noble death is length of days;
The sun that ripens autumn's sheaf
Has poured a summer's wealth of rays."

WILLIAM STURGIS HOOPER.

Vol. A. D. C. (rank of Captain), Major-General Banks's Staff, December 4, 1862; died at Boston, September 24, 1863, of disease contracted in the service.

His

ILLIAM STURGIS HOOPER was born in Boston, The name of his father, Samuel Hooper, has been for many years as familiar in the commercial world as it is now in the affairs of the nation. mother was Anne, daughter of William Sturgis, whose early career, as one of the pioneers of our commerce in the Pacific, and whose later prominence among Boston merchants, are well known in the community. Both by his father's and mother's line the subject of this sketch was allied to a race of merchants; and the taste and faculty for business which his manhood developed had been born in him, and had grown with his growth.

In his early school-days there was little of interest, and of those days he afterwards had no cheerful recollection. Not of robust constitution, possessing little rude childish energy, never "a boy among boys," he shrank from all the roughness of school life with the same sensitiveness which later, as a man in contact with men, he strove faithfully and successfully to conquer. Still he was never effeminate, and he very early manifested the fondness for field sports and all sorts of out-of-door life which he always retained. His summers in the country, or on the sea-shore, where he was his father's companion in walking and fishing, and his mother's pupil in books, and in many things not taught from books, were the pleasantest portions of this period of his life. As a child, he was ardent in whatever he undertook, but with an underlying sweetness and patience, and had an older and more serious air than his years would warrant.