wound. The fighting around the battery was bloody in the extreme. The 3d moved up in support, and in ten minutes 190 of the 500 men, comprising their number, were killed or wounded. By this time the battle along the whole line was raging with incredible fury. At the one hundred and thirteenth round one of Bledsoe's guns burst. Still we held our ground and had possession of the captured guns. General Gregg believed that we had encountered something heavier than cavalry, and by examining captured prisoners found that they represented eighteen different regiments. A whole corps was in our front. There was a choice of two things left us to retreat in the face of such numbers or to wait until we were entirely surrounded. He decided upon a retreat and this we accomplished successfully, even moving our shattered guns to Mississippi Springs, six miles from the battle-field, where we bivouacked for the night. On our retreat through Raymond, we saw ladies with quilts and bandages tenderly caring for our wounded. They would not leave even after the enemy's shells were flying and crashing through the streets and houses. Mournfully we took up our line of retreat, carrying off our slightly wounded prisoners to the number of 280. With 6000 men, Gregg had met the advance of Grant's army and had resisted him in a regular battle of eight hours. Our loss was over ten per cent., or 650 men killed and wounded. The history of the war furnishes few instances where the heroic gallantry of Southern soldiers showed to better advantage. After the lapse of years, the memory of Raymond, fought by a single brigade of Confederates against fearful odds, stands out as one of the most remarkable and hard fought battles of the Not one of the regimental commanders are now alive, and Gregg himself fought his last fight in front of Petersburg and sleeps with the rest. This fight proved to be the second act in Pemberton's grand drama of the "Fall of Vicksburg." war. In the Wilderness. The battle of the Wilderness was brought on by General Griffin advancing two brigades, Ayres's and Bartlett's, and those two brigades first grappled with the brigade of rebels under General Heath. Remarkable Record.-Company H, 4th Wisconsin, numbering nearly two hundred men, served for five years, and only lost three men by disease, a record said by the Surgeon-General to be without parallel in this or any other war. The Episode of Patrick Connolly. By REV. JOHN F. MOORS, 52d Massachusetts Regiment. FTER we had been in camp several weeks at Baton Rouge, and had received several mails from home, I saw a little Irish fellow, Pat Connolly, looking sad and disconsolate, while the others were reading their freshly received letters. I asked him if he had not received any letters. He replied: "No. There is no one to write I never had a letter in 66 66 I length of rail fence for my own use, while the rest was speedily turned into kindlingwood, to cook the coffee. took off the top rails and laid them over the bottom ones to secure a shelter for the night. When thus employed Pat came up and said he was looking for me, as he had heard I was sick and without any blanket. I was a good deal used up, and my blanket and horse had been left behind and would not be up for a day or two. at once offered to share his blanket with me. I declined, as kindly as I could. Pat was not neat, and I knew that if I accepted his offer to share his blanket, I should have more bed-fellows than I wanted. As I crawled from under the rails next morning, Pat stood by, waiting to offer to carry my haversack. He had his own gun, cartridge-box, knapsack, and haversack to carry. I to me. my life." 'Have you no relatives?" I asked. "No," he said, not one." I learned his story, and took care ever afterward to have a kind word for him whenever I met him, which he repaid with the affection of a warm and generous nature. If when on guard or picket he was able to secure a canteen of milk or some fresh eggs, he was careful to see that the chaplain had a share. On the night after the battle at Irish Bend I secured a I told him we were to have a quartermaster. It was a stretch forced march that day and he must look out for himself. had nothing but my empty haversack. It was a hard march. At night our horses came up, and I had a blanket to wrap about me as we lay in an open field. The next day I found Pat, as our straggling line made its way over the broad plains of western Louisiana. He had confiscated a horse, which he was leading by a rope; too unselfish to ride, he had piled as many knapsacks of Co. B men as he could upon the. horse, and thus relieved the tired and footsore men of a portion of their burden. At night Pat's horse and the chaplain's were tied side by side, and shared their rations between them, Pat close by as guard to both. The next day came an order to have all confiscated horses turned over to the quartermaster. I was eager to save Pat's horse for the good he was doing the company in carrying their knapsacks. While I was meditating how we could save the horse, the quartermaster rode up and ordered the knapsacks off, and the horse turned over to him. Some one near me called out, "That is the lieutenantcolonel's horse, sir." "Well, let him go then," replied the of the truth, but it was not the only time the truth was stretched all it would bear during the war. Pat kept his horse through all that long march, and then turned him over to the quartermaster. All went well with Pat till the siege of Port Hudson. On the day before the assault of the 14th of June, Pat was made happy by the arrival of two letters which I had caused to be written to him, one by my wife. He showed them to me with great delight. He passed unscathed through the fierce battle of June 14. The next day as he lay behind a log, near the enemy's works, he thought he saw a head he could hit; he fired, and, in the excitement, popped up his own head to see if he had hit. A dozen bullets flew at him and one struck him in the forehead and killed him instantly. The following night two men crept in to where the body lay. They found in his pockets the cherished letters. That was all. They threw a few shovels of earth over the dead body, and that was the last of the goodnatured, affectionate, unselfish, friendless Irish boy, Pat Connolly. There was no one at home to mourn his death. I shall always cherish his memory with tender affection. A SURGEON'S FIRST AND LAST SIGHT OF A BEAUTIFUL SILKEN BANNER. A * Brave * Lover * Buried with the Flag Upon His Breast. JULY 4, 1863. DR. H. L. RUSSELL, Surgeon Alabama Regiment. OLONEL ALTON," said a fair young Alabama lady, "in behalf of the ladies of this village and vicinity, allow me to present to the regiment, through you, this silken emblem of our country, made by our own hands, a fitting tribute to the valor displayed in the uprising of the regiment to protect our homes." "Ladies," responded the colonel, "in behalf of the regiment I thank you. Trust me, the flag will be held sacred by us all, and we will protect it with our lives, ever looking forward hopefully to the time when, our mission accomplished, we can with honor bring it back again to Alabama.” "Now," said the colonel, "who among us considers this flag worth his life and will volunteer to carry it?" It seemed as if there was a forward movement of the whole regiment, but like a flash of light, in front of all stepped a young man, the finest type of Southern manly beauty that I ever saw. "Colonel Alton," he exclaimed, "let me carry the flag." The young lady stepped quickly forward and touched the colonel lightly on the arm. "Please let Louis have it," she pleaded; "I know he will be worthy of the trust.' Well, so be it," replied the colonel, as taking Louis Peyton's musket he returned in its place the staff of the beautiful banner. Engagement followed engagement, but no man looked in vain for his colors. Always at the front, cool and determined, stood our color-bearer, and as one after another of the color guard were brought back I began to think that Louis Peyton bore a charmed life. July 4, 1863. What a day for history! Vicksburg, Gettysburg, Helena, the first of a downward grade of disaster, the end of which was Appomattox. It was extremely necessary, owing to the fact that Vicksburg and Port Hudson were doomed, that some other point on the Mississippi should be held by the Confederates or else the Confederacy would be cut in twain. So we were marching to attack Helena, a fortified position on the west bank of the Mississippi, held by about 4,500 Federals under General Prentiss, while the Confederate commands under Generals Price and Holmes were considerably above that number. Anticipating an easy victory, as our scouts had reported the river free from gunboats, we pressed close to the Federal position on the night of the 3d, and at daybreak, the 4th, commenced the attack. A fog had formed in the night, shutting the river from our view, but it gradually disappeared, and we beheld upon the stream one of our most powerful enemies, the famous gunboat Taylor, whose terrible rain of shot and shell forced the Confederate reserves from the field, and destroyed Beauregard's great charge in the first day's fight at Shiloh. She roared this day, and every roar of her guns meant death in our ranks; 650 shots in two hours and a half she poured into the ranks of the gray. Neither iron nor steel, let alone flesh and blood, could stand that terrible fire. After several unsuccessful attempts to hold captured positions on the left, my regiment, with others, were ordered to charge a battery situated upon a hill, the key of the Federal position, in hopes to turn the guns against the boat. The men advanced quickly out on the grassy clearing, which sloped gently downward into a narrow valley, then rose again to the battery. As with wild cheers they went, the fire of every available point was brought to bear upon them. Boom! boom! whiz-z, bl-bloop, the terrible shells from the gunboat tear through the ranks of gray, but still they go on. The air is filled with shrapnel from bursting shells. The gunboat's sides fairly blaze with fire; still the gray ranks waver not. They have reached the valley, are ascending the hill; once within the |