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VOLUME XXVII.
THEY" SAY.
They say—Ah! well, suppose they do,
But can they prove the story true ?
Suspicion may arise from naught
But malice, envy, want of thought;
Why count yourself among the "they"
Who whisper what they dare not say ?
They say—But why i he tale rehearse,
And help to make the matter worse ?
No good can possibly accrue
From telling what may be untrue ;
And is it not a nobler plan
To speak of all the best yon can?
They say—Well, if it should be so,
Why need you tell the tale of woe ?
Will it the bitter wrong redress,
Or make one pang of sorrow less ?
Will it the erring one restore,
Henceforth to "go and sin no more?'
./They say—Oh I pause, and look within,
See how thine heart inclines to sin ;
Watch, lest in dark temptation's hour,
Thou, too, shouhlst sink beneath its pow
er ;
Pity the frail, weep o'er their fall,
But speak of good, or not at all.
Sale.
The Story of Bernard Bartlett,
THE UNION SPY.
If the field of romantic adventure
iu our late war should not be fully il
lustrated, it will not be the fault of
the scores of novelists and sketch
writers who are so promptly throw
ing themselves into the " breach."—
From the pretentious duodecimo down
to the two-column story iu the week
ly paper, we have the most ample
opportunities to acquaint ourselves
with hairbreadth escapes, chivalric
enterprises, and melting episodes of
the heart, principally "founded on
facts which actually occurred during
the Great Rebellion," or which the
author doubtless thinks might easily
have occurred, il they did not. Out
of all this mass of war literature, un
substantial fiction, for the most part,
we may possibly have, at some re
mote day, a novel which will deal
truthfully with the great historical
events of our four years' straggle,
and weave from them a connecting
web of romance which will be genu
ine, because not extravagant aud
sensational. The mantle of Fenni
more Cooper may yet be found rest
ing upon the shoulders of some pri
vate soldier of shrewd intelligence,
quick observation, possessed of the
necessary literary power to grapple
successfully with the subject, and
thus give to the country that which,
if the truth must be told, the coun
try is remarkably barren of—an A
merican romance upon a purely Amer
ican subject. Certainly, the field is
ample enough, aud we have reason
to think that the work, if it is to be
done at all, can be better performed
while the war is, as it were, but a
thing of yesterday, aud while its
principal figures are still before us,
and its scenes aud events still fresh
in our minds. There never was, I
verily believe, in the whole history
of wars, such a field presented for
the exercise of the pen of the true
novelist as in any of the leading
campaigns of our rebellion. The
Peninsula, the Wilderness, aud the
Valley, diveis iu their typography
and population as in the varying for
tunes of the strife which overran and
desolated them, might he linked to
gether by a chain of characters and
event*, clustering around the milita
ry operations of McClellan, Grant
and Sheridan, which would truthful
ly blend the historical with the ro
mantic, and preserve for future gen
erations something of the spirit of
these momentous times. Very possi
bly this work can only he performed
by a soldier, writing from a stand
point which will give him the advan
tage of familiarity with his subject ;
but the public will not be captious
upon this point. If the article, when
presented, shall bear the critical
tests which will be mercilessly ap
plied to it, and he found the pnre gold
of romance, we will at once recog
nize our Cooper of 1801-'65, and hon
or him accordingly. But, until then,
the cry of ecce homo will be vainly
raised.
But, aside from all gildiug of fic
tion, there is sufficient in the story of
the deeds actually performed during
these years to absorb the interest of
our millions of reading public. Our
people looked on with breathless and
painful attention from both North and
South, and the movements and col
lisions of our mighty armies on the
chess board of war, and often as the
story of this greatest of historical
dramas shall be well told, it will not
lack for auditors. And, aside from
these, the acts in the play to which
all minor happenings were incident,
there were ten thousand personal ex
periences which should be told as le
gitimate parts of the story ; adven
tures of subordinates and soldiers,
men whose names have never ap
peared in the reports of Generals in
the field, or Congressional commit
tees, but which embody much of the
vigorous military life which the his
torian can only fully portray, and
which need no gilding of the roman
cer to give them interest. I class
among these the story ol Bernard
Bartlett.
During my schoolboy days, when
the story of our wars was to me, as
I believe it is to all boys, a bewitch
ing study, and before the dream had
ever entered my brain, that I, too,
i should be a soldier at no remote day,
and take part in great battles to be
j lought on American soil, the tales of
the spies and scouts of the Revolu
tion, of the Hales, the Andres, and
i the Champes, were loremost of all in
their power to fascinate. I wonder-
I ed then if these pictures were not
overdrawn, and if men ever lived
who could dare and suffer as much
for any cause as did these three, aud
many others. The experience of a
few months of active campaign was
a sufficient answer. I learned to
look upon the men who were employ
ed in the secret service of both ar
mies, and who periled their lives al
most daily in the discharge of their
different duties, as something more
than ordinary men, as they assuredly
were. Many of them were as rougn
and uncouth in their physique as
D.miel Boone's hunters, unlettered
and unlearned in the language of
schools ; and they had a self reliance,
a cool daring,"and a faculty of quick
perception ot human nature which is
never the offspring ot education.—
They were in many cases borderers,
natives of Tennessee, Kentucky,
West Virginia and Ohio ; men who
were equally acquainted with the pe
culiarities of the soldiers of both
Union aud Rebel armies, and who
could assume either character at
pleasure. To say that the business
in which they engaged required nerve
is merely to repeat the intuitive con
viction of every reader who shud
ders over the stories ot John Andre
and Nathan Hale—stories which, to
my knowledge, have had numerous
counterparts in our late war. To the
Generals of the contending armies
these men were indispensable. . The
knowledge of the position, numbers
aud probable intentions of the ene
my which they were able to obtain,
entered largely iuto the plans which
were devised at headquarters, and in
more than one instance saved whole
armies from defeat, and indicated cor
rectly where aud when successful
blows might be struck. It has often
seemed to me as if such men must
be thoroughly indoctrinated with the
Mahometan's creed of fatalism, and
must look death as something which
no act of their own can hasteu or
bring before its appointed time.—
While in command of advanced pick
ets in the enemy's country, upon more
than one occasion, I have been called
to a distant post to scrutinize a man
who sought to pass outside. I re
member upon one occasion, in West
ern Louisiana, examinig a horseman,
dressed in a suit of shabby citizen's
clothing, and looking much like au
inhabitant of the parish, who present
ed himself at the picket line, with
the pass of the Commanding Gener
al. I knew the signature, and could
not doubt the genuineness ; but wish
ing to verify the person beyond all
doubt, 1 searched his face narrowly,
and demanded his business. A half
smile came to the corners of his res
olute mouth, aud his keen black eyes
shot forth a glance of peculiar intel
ligence as he bent down over the
neck of his sorry-looking horse, and
asked in a low tone, so that my men
might not hear him :
" Captain, have you ever heard of
, the leader of Banks'
scouts ?"
" Very often." I think there was
not a soldier of camp-follower in the
whole Army of the Gulf, who had
not heard some camp fire story of
this audacious scout.
" Well, lam he. I'm bound on a
little trip up the country ; shall pro
bably be at Dick Taylor's headquar
ters before night. The General wants
some information, aud I think I can
get it."
I wished him good luck, and a safe
return, aud he went out into the dark
ness on his shambling way. Before
the twenty-four hours were completed
1 have no doubt that he was bemoan
ing to the rebel General some ruth
less capture of his pigs and chickens
by the Yankees, and noting with eyes
and ears everything that passed in
the camp.
Under the name of Bernard Bart
lett, 1 wish to disguise the personali
ty of a young man of not more than
twenty-three years of age, formerly
a private in one of the cavalry regi
ments of Custar's command. Lest
his extraordinary story should be
thought one of the fictions to which
I have alluded, I am prepared to say
that from personal knowledge of my
self and of the military situation in
the Shenandoah Valley at the time of
his adventure, I most unherwtatiugly
believe it, and can lend it my lull en
dorsement. It refers to one ol the
most exciting and important episodes
of the war—the surprise of Sheri
dan's army near Cedar Creek, Vir
ginia, on the morning of October
19th, 1864, and shows how complete
ly a great military disaster (as our
defeat that morning certainly was)
may hinge upon one obscure soldier.
With the wonderful spy system
which Sheridan organized, and with
the daring scouts which he had at
his headquarters, it has always seem
ed incomprehensible to me how our
Generals could have remained in
such utter ignorance of the designs
and movements of the enemy as pre
vailed among them upon that terri
ble morning. The rebels were in pos
session of important information as
to our numbers and dispositions, and j
they knew, or claimed to know, that'
Sheridan was absent from his army : j
but, the false security security in
which we had enveloped ourselves
will be remembered by the men of
that command. In my brigade, as I
distinctly remember, orders had been
issued two days before to discontinue
standing to arms before daylight ;
when the rebel advance swooped
down npon us from the Marsanuttan
Mountains, in the fogs of that Octo
ber morning, they found a foe asleep
in his camps. Why was it, we re
peatedly asked, after the fiual glori
ous result of that day, that we could
not have had some warning, some in
timation of this fearful surprise ?
The story of Bernard Bartlett was
first related to me by himself & year
since, nd in it I found a full answer
to this question. 1 present it as an
important contribution to the history
of this, the last battle in the Sbenan-
REGARDLESS Or DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER
TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., APRIL 4,1867.
doah, and as a good illustration of
the almost incredible risks which
were constantly undertaken by the
scouts and spies of the armies.
Bernard was a farmer's boy before
the war, and since its close he has
, returned to his home in Niagara coun
ty, New York, aud resumed his use
ful labors as patiently and steadily
as hundreds of thousauds of others,
! heroes in blue whose names will nev
er be known, have also done. Ber
nard is no beauty ; there have been
thousands of sleek, shiny soldiers,
with straps and without, who could
play the part of military dandyism
much better than could he. He has
an ordinary common school educa
tion ; trips occasionally in his gram
mar, aud stumbles in his speech, and
he has a thorough contempt for black
ing and paper collars. But he has a
: quiet, resolute way, which shows a
close observer that he has much in
reserve, a shrewd shy manner, and
an eye which takes note of every
thing within scope of its vision at a
single sweep. He told me his story
in his own direct way ; and I prefer
Ito let him speak in the first person,
preserving his language as nearly as
possible.
I don't kuow exactly what it was
that gave (feneral Custar so much
confidence in me. 1 have always
thought the Colonel had something
to do with it ; for he used to send
me out every time skirmish
ers, for some reason or other. The
sergeant majoralwuys mentioned my
name to the captain, until the boys
repeated the words lor a joke, " Pri
vate Bartlett and nine men from Com
pany C." One day, shortly alter
Sheridan took command in the Val
ley, an order came down, detailing
me for special ervice at Custar's
head-quarters, i went and found 1
was to be a scoot for the cotnmapd,
to go and come when I pleased, out
side the picket or inside, visit the
people of the country, aud pick up
information when ever I could. It
was exactly the life that suited me,
and I went to work with a will.—
Therejwas a kindjof.freedom in it that
pleased me, after living three years
in the ranks, and I don't think Gen
eral Custar had any reason to com
plain that I was not active enough.
I was in the saddle pretty much all
the time, scouting between the lines,
aud had some escapes aud adven
tures which I should like to tell to
you of some other time. I was well
mounted, armed with a carbine and
two revolvers, and sometimes carried
an old Confederate uniform rolled up
in my blue overcoat, and strapped to
my saddle. Sometimes I would ride
out in the night, change my dress,
palm myself off for a rebel at the
houses of the farmers and learn
whatever 1 could without exciting
their suspicions. One night I fell in
with two rebel cavalrymen at a
house between the lines. The man
of the house had plenty of apple
jack, and 1 stayed with them half the
night, worming out of them all they
knew about Early's army, and pre
tending to drink every time they did,
until they both rolled under the ta
ble ; and then I rode back to our line
leading off both their horses, report
ed to the General, and both the John
nies were safe in the bauds of our
Provost-Marshal before morning. But
I think that adventure I had with the
rebels on the morning of Cedar
Creek fight, and for a week before it,
about as curious as any of them. I
think it was about the 12th ot Octo
ber that I went out on a scout to
wards Strasburg. Our army lay at
that time, you remember, about three
miles this side of the town, and the
enemy somewhere near Woodstock,
beyond Fisher's Hill. I went out in
the night, and had two other men
along with me ; something which I
did not usually do, but which luckily
happened so this time It was hard
ly dusk vet when we rode into Stras
burg, and as we rode down the street
at a brisk gallop, I saw a boy run
out in a hurry from a house, untie
two horses, and lead them around to
a shed back of the house. 1 under
stood the thing, at once ; although I
did not suppose that any of the rebel
scouts would be fool-hardy enough to
be caught so near our lines in that
shape. But I knew that dozens of
the girls in all the Valley towns had
lovers in Early's army, and my expe
rience showed me that they often ran
great hazards to visit them ; so I con
cluded at once that there were two
of the Johnnies in the house. I sent
one of my comrades round to look
after the horses, left another in charge
of ours at the door, and dismounted
myself and walked in without knock
ing. I suppose we made noise enough
to alarm our victims, for as I walked
across the hall I heard a shuffling
and bustling about, and when I open
ed the door of the first room, there
were only two girls, and handsome
ones, too, sitting quietly by the table,
knitting stockings. They looked
' rather frightened, though.
I took off my cap and made one of
| uiy awkward bows.
" Excuse me, ladies," I said, " but
I I came to see your visitors."
" What visitors ?" says one of theui
I fighting shy, and trying to look inuo
: cent.
" The Johnny Grays, of course,
ma'am, who ride these horses outside.'
" We have n't any visitors," said
the other, bridling up. " Those horses
are ours ; my brother has just this
minute saddled them for sister and I
to ride to Woodstock."
" Sorry to disbelieve you," I said,
" but I've always noticed that the
Virginia ladies never ride with two
stirrups. You need n't make any
noise : I know you've got two rebel
soldiers here, and I mean they shall
make General Custar's acquaintance.
Don't disturb yourselves in the least;
I'll go and find them."
I took the candle from the table,
and started for the door leading into
an inner room, with a cocked revolv-
er in my baud. They followed me,
the older of the two insisting that
her sick grandmother was in that
room, and that no gentleman would
think of searching it.
" I would n't be sure I am a gen
tleman," I said. " I'm only a private
in the New York cavalry. However,
that loom must be searched." I
thr- w open the door and presented
the pistol at the bed. " Come out of
that now." I said, "or I'll spoil your
bed clothes. There's two more of my
kind out of doors, and you'll save
time aud whole skins by moving
quick."
At that they threw off the covers
and jumped out ; two good looking
young fellows, dressed in blue, hut
with not another Yankee look about
them. They acted a little sheepish,
but laughed and gave up their pis
tols without any nonsense. I did n't
want to be hard on them, so I gave
them three minutes to Bay their fare
wells, and stepped just outside the
door, so as not to see their kissing
performance. My ears were open,
though, aud I must say I have beard
pistol volleys that were not so loud.
However, we mounted them on their
own horses, aud t ok them back to
Castar, leaving the poor girls sob
bing at the door. 1 hope the fellows
escaped all the dangers of the war ;
and 1 think I should like an invite to
their weddings.
Well, I delivered the prisoners to
Custar's Provost Marshal. He ex
amined them thoroughly, hut they
had no papers, except a ragged pass
which one of them carried in his hoot.
It had Jubal Early's name on the bot
tom ot it, written in his own hand,
and it read something like this :
HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF THE VALLEY, /
Near t'harlestown, Aug. 45, 'O4. J
All Confederate guards and pickets allow
private Drake Dewey, —th Alabama volun
teers, to pass mounted at all hours.
.TUBAL EARLY,
General Commanding.
The Provost tried to pump them ;
hut they were shrewd euough to hold
their tongues, and not a word could
he get from them, except that they
belonged to the Alabama volunteers,
and to Early's army. Some of the
staff gathered around while he was
questioning them ; and I was stand
ing quite near the man who carried
the pass. The Provost Marshal look
ed from one to the other of us, and
suddenly slapped his leg, with a loud
exclamation.
"By thunder, here's something
queer !" he said. " Evans, Newton,
Roberts ! all of you, come here. —
Now look at these two, aud tell me
if you ever saw a more striking re
semblance."
They looked at us, and fairly shout
ed with surprise. For five minutes
they stood looking at us, comparing
feature by feature, and each of them
declaring that the resemblance was
perfect.
" Well, Johnny, this is queer," I
said, speakiug to my double, as they
all said he was. " Let us be acquain
ted. My name is Bernard Bartlett.
Is|yours really Drake Dewey ? I used
to know some Deweys in Alabama,
years ago."
He said yes ; his name was correct
ly given in the pass. That was all 1
wanted to know, and 1 chuckled some
over the way I took to be certain of
it. Most likely if I had put the
question abruptly he would have re
fused to tell. That night I lay in 103-
tent, and planned a scheme which 1
had often wanted to execute, and
which I now saw a good chance to
cany out. Bold, and reckless al
most, as I had been, 1 had never been
inside the rebel army, although more
than once within their pickets. I be
lieve I was not foolhardy, and had
made up my mind never to take a
risk unless there was a good chance
of making something b}- it. I'p to
this time I had never seen a reasons
ble prospect of ny going right into
the lion's den, as 3-011 might sa3',
without being hung for asp - within
the first hour ; but now there was a
chance of success which I grasped
at once ; the rn<>re promptly', perhaps
because 1 knew that our Generals
had no reliable information about the
reinforcements which it was supposed
Earl 3' had obtained from Lee since
the battle of Winchester. When I
first saw the pass, with Early's name
on it, something of the kind occurred
to me ; but when afterward I dis
covered the resemblance between the
rebel and myself, I began to think
there was something almost provi
dential about it. To be sure, there
were grave chances to be taken
which could not be guarded against ;
but after thinking it all over, and
weighing everything that could be
said for and against, I found 1113' mind
made up to go. What I told the
rebel scout about visiting Alabama
was true ; I had been there, and
knew something about the country
and the people. This knowledge en-1
couraged me very little, for to offset I
it was the risk of meeting some one |
who might have known me there.--!
But I thought a bold face and my ex- j
perience would carry me through
safe ; and they did, as you shall hear, j
The next morning 1 submitted my j
plan at headquarters, and it was ap j
proved at once. Mr. Drake Dewey j
was compelled to change clothes !
with me, much against his will, for
he now began to understand me, and
I mounted his horse, and with the
pass and his arms, rode away on my
adventure. I had tried to anticipate
everything th .t might I) 3* any possi
bility happen to me before I found
myself within our liues agaiu, and to
prepare myself for any emergency.
It was a bright, clear morning, and
I rode briskly southward, passing
through Strusburg, where 1 noticed
the two girls sitting by the window
looking sad and lonesome. I rode
straight down the pike, without see
ing a single horseman from either
side, until within three miles of Wood
stock, as near as I could could calcu
late. Then somebody called to me to
me to halt, and I discovered half a
dozen rebel cavalry under a shed. I
rode toward them, hut was stopped
again.
" Halt ! Who are you ?"
" Dewey," I answered, thinking it
likely that an advanced party like
this would know the name.
" Yes—that's him 1" two or three
cried out, and I joined them under
the shed. They all seemed to recog
nize me as Drake Dewey, and gath
ered around, inquiring eagerly for
Bascomb. I told them that he had
fallen into the hands of the Yankees,
and I had had a narrow escape ; anil
showed them a hall-hole through the
skirt of the jacket, which I had made
before leaving camp. Then I told
them I had important news, which
must he carried to camp immediate
ly, and iwo of them volunteered to
go with me. So I found myself known
as a rebel soldier, and riding to the
rebel camp with rebel comrades. We
were stopped several times on the
way by rebel guards, when we had
to show our passes, mine proving per
fectly satisfactory in every instance.
Twice I met soldiers who nodded to
me with, " How are you Drake ?" aod
the inquiries for Bascomb were re
peated. I gathered enough along the
way to satisfy me that Dewy and
Bascomb were both expert scouts at
tached to General Early's head
quarters, and that both had left
Woodstock the morning before, with
the intention of getting inside the
Union lines.
" The headquarters are over there
on the hill to the left," one ol in}
companions said "Tuey were chang
ed last night."
They left me, and 1 rode straight
up through the camp to the headquar
ters tent, dismounted, and asked the
orderly to admit me. " I am Drake
Dewey," I said, "one of the scouts."
He went inside and spoke to the
General, and 1 was immediately ush
ered into the presence of the "Bad
Did Man," as they called him. He
was sitting by a camp table, calcu
lating with a pencil and paper. Look
ing up, he fixed his keen eye on me
and said :
" Yon are one of the two that I
saw last night? Yes ? Then tell
me everything that has happened to
you, and all you have discovered."
I repeated over the story that I
had pretty well prepared in my mind.
It was that Bascomb and I had fall
en iu with a federal cavalry patrol,
just north of Strashurg, about dusk ;
that he was taken prisoner, and that
I had saved myself by a hard ride,
the Yankees pursuing me to Fisher's
ilill, and firing at me repeatedly.
The General seemed disappointed
that I could tell him no more, and
wished to know if I had talked with
the people of Starshurg. I said yes.
Well, did they say anything about
Sheridan? Had he gone to Wash
ington ?—and did they think the
Sixth corps was iu the Valley yet ?
I told him that I had discovered noth
ing whatever, and that the people
knew, or pretended to know, nothing
übuut the Yankee army. He seemed
more disappointed by my reply, and
after two or three more questions,
dismissed me. If 1 had been driven
hard, I suppose I should have in
veu'ed something ; hut as it was, I
got off without telling a word, truth
or lies, about our army. You may
better believe I felt much more com
fortable after 1 found myself outside
the tent.
This was about a week before the
lytb. I went to work carefully and
cautiously, learned the names and
faces of everybody around head
quarters, found out what was gener
alh- expected of me, and began to
observe everything and remember
wiiat 1 saw and heard. After three
da 3's, 1 was satisfied that the impo
sition was so perfect that I need
have no fear for myself, and so com
menced to ride around among the
camps. It was not long before I
saw that something unusual was
afoot. 1 learned that two or three
new divisions had just come up from
Staunton, and I concluded from the
looks of all the camps that there
were not less than twenty thousand
men present. One day a Union safe
guard was brought in, who had been
protecting some property near Stras
burg. He was asked the same ques
tion that I had been, and declared
that Sheridan was absent, and that
the Sixth corps had left for Graut's
army the week before. He told just
half the truth ; the Sixth were still
with Sheridan, as I knew well. The
man was most likel3 r one of those
stupid younkers who uever preteud
to know much.
However, I believe that General
Early had made up his mind before,
that the Sixth corps had left, and
that this man's report confirmed his
belief. That I listened in a safe
place outside his tent, and heard him
and his Genefals arranging the plan
of an .attack ou the Union position.
They talked it over just as it happen
ed afterward ; that the army should j
cross the Shenandoah, leaving a res- j
erve to bring the artillery down the j
pike, at the right time, creep around |
the Marsauutteu, cross the river in j
rear ot our left, and attack before !
daylight. I wauted to laugh at the |
whole plau at first, it seemed so ab
surd and impossible : but as they
continued to discuss it 1 began to
think that it was one of those fool
hardy exploits which our people
would never suspect, and which
might, perhaps. succeed where a less
risky plan would be certain to fail.
At all events, 1 grew alarmed, the
more I heard of it, and resolved to
leave for the Union lines as speedily
as possible. It was now Monday ;
the movements was to begin the
1 very night, and I had need to be
stirring. But here 1 was foiled in
every direction. Not a man was al
lowed to leave camp ; the guards
were doubled, the picketa strength
ened. and every precaution taken to
#3 pet* Annum, in Advance.
guard against desertion. I felt sure
that, even if I could elude the camp
guard, the pickets would uot let me
out on my pass, aud that I might ex
pose myself to suspicion by trying at
this time. So I kept perfectly still ;
and you can imagine what anxiety I
felt as the work of preparation went
on all about me, aud 1 heard the at
tack discussed every hour. Like
myself, most of the soldiers thought
it was foolhardy ; but 1 knew they
would fight well euough, for all that.
You were on the ground, and know
something about the attack. Ker
shaw's division had the advance, and
they moved out a little after dark
and crossed the river. I rode with a
small detachment of scouts that
were thrown ahead ; and a diilicult
and tedious time we had of it. We
passed some places that a horseman
could not safely ride over, and then
we had to dismount and lead the ani
mal around ; and it was within two
hours of daylight before we crossed
the river agaiu. At some points we
could hear the Union pickets talking
together, and stamping their feet to
keep warm. My heart sunk as I saw
thousands upon thousands of the
rebel infantry wading across the
river, and silently forming in heav
ing columns, with a whole brigade
front. Here they were, exactly in
rear of the Eighth corps, and our
men sleeping in their camps as quiet
ly as if nothiug unusual was to hap
pen.
Well—what did happen you know
better than 1. By this time I had
got desperate, and had almost de
termined to break away at a gallop,
when General Kershaw sent an or
der for a dozen of the scouts to go
forward and find whether there were
aDy pickets right in front. If chal
lenged, we were to answer, "Officer
of the Day," and one of us ride for
ward and show his blue coat. I was
one of the dozen ; and as we spread
out in advancing, I got over to the
right, and slipped away in the dark
ness. 1 rode straight for the pike,
calculating that there was half an
hour yet before daylight, and that
something might be done if I could
find General Wright. Perhaps it
might have been better if I had rid
den straight to Crook ; but every
moment was precious now, and I
thought of nothing but getting the
whole army aroused. I dashed up
to Wright's headquarters, and found
them perfectly quiet, with nothing
stirring but a single guard before
the tents. A sleepy staff officer
thrust his head out and asked,
" What's up ?"
I was so full of excitement that 1
could hardly speak, and very likely I
acted a little wild.
" The whole rebel army will at
tack us in twenty minutes !" I re
plied. "Let me see General Wright,
and I'll tell him all about it."
" You're drunk or crazy, man ; I
don't clearly know which," the officer
said.
" Go to your regiment, or I'll hand
you over to the ProVost-marshal."
1 protested that i was in my sober
senses, and urged to be allowed to
see General Wright so loudly, that
the noise awoke him, and his head,
too, was thrust out.
" What's all this row about?" he
said.
i told him the whole story in less
than half a minute, and assured him
that the rebel advauce was all in or
der of battle at that moment on
Crook's left, waiting for daylight to
begin the attack ; and he merely
laughed at me.
" You've probably been scared out
of your senses by a guerrilla," he
said "Go to your regimeDt."
So there 1 was, left alone, with the
full knowledge of what was going to
happen in fifteen minutes, and no
body would credit me ! I can't say
now that I blame them ; I presume
if I had been the guard before the
tents, 1 should have doubted the sob
erness of a man who would come in
and make such a report. But it was
true—fearfully true ; and 1 think
they began to believe me before they
had taken forty winks more 1
There was just oue more chance—
one faint, desperate chance. Custar
would believe me ; and remounting
my horse, I plied whip and spur, and
galloped over the rough, hilly ground
toward the extreme right, where the
cavalry was encamped. It was al
most two miles from Wright's to Cus
tar's headquarters, and I might have
known there was no hope. I had
not reached the right of the Sixth
corps, and daylight had not come,
when I heard that first terrible volley
from Kershaw's leading brigade, fol
lowed by the cheers of the rebels as
they burst in on the silent camps of
the Eighth corps and drove the men
like sheep before them, making pris
oners by the hundreds. I looked
back once from the high ground, over
beyond the pike, and saw the flash
of their rifles through the fog, and
heard their cheers aud yells as they
swept down upon the Nineteenth
corps, which was hurrying into line
to meet their onset. 1 found General
Custar as quickly as 1 could, and
told him my story in a few words,
lie dispatched a staff officer to (len
eral Wright with the report; but the
officer did not find hiui where 1 had
left him. The General and his staff
i had left in a hurry, and the enemy
were in possession of the ground
where we had our conversation.
I did not begin to tell the story of
that bloody battle, and don't mean to
now. We were badly whipped, in
the morning, and driven oil' from the
pike, the hills, and clear back to the
woods. The cavalry went with the
rest, and made little show till the af
ternoon. Then the tide turned with
Sheridan's coming, and we went into
them with new spirit, and changed
the fortunes of the day. I fought
with the cavalry all the afternoon,
| and was one of the foremost in hunt
ing down the flying rebels. And
now, after yon have heard all this,
you can judge for yourself whether
we need have been so wretchedly
whipped that morning if my story
had been listened to a* you have lis
toned to it.
THE BEAUTY OF IRISH WOMEN
Monsieur Felix Belly, one of the
writers of the Constitutionelle,having
made a tour through Ireland last sum
mer, pronounces the following eulog
ium upon the women of that coun
try :
"The most remarkable element, the
richest, and certainly the most full of
life, of this land, so life-full, is the
population itself. No European race,
that of the Caucasian excepted, can
compete with it in beauty. The Irish
blood is of a purity and distinction,
especially among the females, which
strikes all strangers with astonish
ment. The transparent whiteness of
the Bkiu, the absorbing attraction,
which, in France, is but tbe tribute oi
one womau in a thousand, is here the
general type. The daughter of the
poor man, as well as the fine lady,
possesses an opal or milky tint, the
arms of a statue, the foot aud hand
of a duchess, aud the bearing of a
queen. In Ireland there are as many
physiognomies as individualities.—
Rags, misery, and manual labor have
no effect on those endowments. Even
beneath the thatched cabin of the poor
j.easant, in the midst of the potato
fields, which yields the sole nourish
ment, those traits, at times, develope
themselves with unmistakable vivid
ness.
In the most wretched streets of the
old quarters of Dublin, the most ideal
tintings of the pencil would grow pale
before the beauty of the children ;
and, in tbe compact crowd which
each day occupies the galleries of
Merion Square, there is certainly the
most magnificent collection of human
beiDgs it is possible to meet. Blondes
with black eyes, brunettes,with blue,
are by no means rare. Tne race is
strong as it is handsome ; as vigor
ous as it is charming. The girls of
Connemera, with their queenly shoul
ders and eyes of fire, would put to
shame, at this day, those daughters
of the East from whom they are said
to be descended. Ireland, in addition
owes to the fervor of her religious
faith, and, it must be said, to her mis
fortunes and the persecutions which
she has suffered, a domestic morality
quite exceptionable.
There are, without doubt, in tbe
great cities of the country, as in all
centuries of population,abodes of evil,
physical aud moral ; their range is
more circumscribed in Dublin than
elsewhere. All those beauteous young
girls, with eyes so pure, with fore
heads of marble whiteness, of stature
so commanding, know uot even the
name of evil. One sees cleat ly that
the blood which flows in their veins
has never been vitiated by tbe mis
deeds of preceediug generations. Add
to this a temperate life—almost en
tirely vegetable in tbe country part*
—and we will comprehend all the vig
or and native purity possessed by a
people, in too many other respects so
poorly endowed."
NUMBER 44.
MATRIMONIAL RETALIATION.
Some years since, in the county of
Penobscott, there lived a man by the
name of H , whose greatest pleas
ure was in tormenting others j his
own family was generally the buttol
his sport.
One cold, blustering night he retir
ed to bed at an eaily hour—his wile
beiug absent. Some time after, slut
returned, and finding the door closed,
demanded admittance.
"Who are you ?" cried H.
"You know well enough who I am
—let me in, it's very cold."
"Begone, you strolling vagabond, 1
want nothing of you here."
"But I must come in."
"What's your name ?"
"You know my name—it's Airs. II."
' Begone ! Mrs. H. is a likely wom
an, and never keeps such hours as
this."
"If you don't let me in I'll drown
myself in the well."
"Do, if you please," he replied.
She took up a log, plunged it into
tlie well and returned to the side of
the door.
Mr. 11. hearing the noise rushed
from the house to save, as he suppos
ed, his drowniug wife. She at the
same time, slipped into the house and
closed the door after her. He,almost
naked, in turn demanded admittance.
"Who are you ?" she demanded.
"You know who I am ; let me in,
or I shall freeze."
"Bagone ! you thievish rogue. 1
don't want you here."
"But I must come in."
"What is your name V
"You know my name—it is Mr. H."
"Mr. H. is a very likely man, he
don't keep late hours."
Suffice it to say, after keeping him
in the cold until she was satisfied,she
opened the door and let him in.
AFTER THE BATTLE. —AH official re
port of ti;e battle ot Gettysburg
states that twenty-seven thousand
five hundred and thirty-four guns
were picked up on the field after the
engagement, twenty-four thousand of
which were loaded. Of this number
one-half had two loads each remain
ing uufired, one-quarter three loads,
the remaiuiug six thousand had from
two to ten loads a peiee. Many were
found having from two to six bullets
over one charge ; in others the pow
der was placed above the ball. One
gun had six cartridges with paper uu
torn. In one Springfield rifle,twenty
three separate and diatiuct charges
were found, while one smooth bore
musket contained twenty-two bullets
and sixty buck-shot rammed in pro
miscuously.—Star.
UXKDUCATF.IT WOMES. —One of the
most agreeable consequences of
knowledge is the respect and import
ance which it communicates to o.d
age Men rise in character often as
they increase in years ; they are ven
erable for what they have acquired,
and pleasing for what they can im
part. If they outlive their faculties,
the mere frame itself is respected for
what it once contained ; but with un
educated women, when youth is gone
all is gone. Xo human creature gives
its admiration for nothing—either its
eye must be charmed or its under
standing gratified.
WHY are a country girl's cheeks
like French calico ? Because they are " war
ranted to wivffi fad retain their color."