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and requiems, and a silent army of spectres are massed in the streets of Murfreesboro.

But what of the other side? On the opposite banks of the little river slept that night equally as many men who wore the gray-men just as brave, with hearts just as warm, with homes just as loving as those of their bluecoated brethren across the river; and to-morrow these men were to grapple in the struggle of death. And almost between them slept the little city which was soon to be desolated by the blind wrath of brothers.

"So slept Pompeii, tower and hall,

Ere the dread earthquake swallowed all."

So slept until the dawn of that day when cannon shots roared out the agreed signal and the dance to death began. What followed history tells. But who can tell what sights and scenes, what sobs and groans, what terrible dying agonies took place in those now silent streets? Could these old stone houses talk, their record would be so sad no human being could hear the story. Some of the good people tell me that after the battle was over the dead soldiers were lying in the streets, on the sidewalks and in the gardens. One lady told me that when she returned to her house after the battle, four dead Union soldiers were lying in the parlor, and that floor is to-day stained with their blood. Years after a party of visiting Grand Army men sought out her house, and recognized it as the place to which they had brought some wounded comrades on that day to die alone.

O'

THE LAST VICTORY OF THE LOST CAUSE.

BY COLONEL WILLIAM H. STEWART.

N the night of the sixth of April, 1865, Mahone's Division, the rear guard or left wing of the Army of Northern Virginia, slept on its arms at the High Bridge, on the Norfolk and Western Railroad, near Farmville, in Virginia. Early on the following morning the unmounted officers and privates crossed over the Appomattox River on this bridge and the mounted officers forded the stream. The close pursuit of the Army of the Potomac prevented the destruction of this great structure; but our soldiers succeeded in burning a barn near, to prevent the capture of a large quantity of tobacco stored therein.

After a march of a few hours, our division was halted at Cumberland

THE LAST VICTORY OF THE LOST CAUSE.

371 church and formed in line of battle across the highway. The right was connected with another line of troops, that extended away toward Farmville, and its left, entirely unprotected, rested a few hundred yards in rear of the church,

It was my fortune to be assigned to the command of the division picket line, which was barely established before the hostile sharpshooters were seen advancing in front, and the contest began, to continue hotly the livelong day. The men in line of battle had hurriedly thrown up a slight earthwork, with bayonets and bare hands, which afforded scant protection from the duel that raged fiercely between the pickets. The Rockbridge Artillery, Captain Archie Graham, was posted on the line of battle near the public road and rendered valuable service throughout that long day. Robert E. Lee, Jr., son of General Robert E. Lee, our commander-in-chief, was a private in this battery.

In the afternoon my pickets were forced back by a strong column of troops, which made a dashing charge upon our left, with the view of turning our flank. The galling fire from my pickets impeded the charge, and the advance brigade halted for protection in a deep ravine only a short distance from the flank of our crude earthworks. The pickets were quickly reinforced by a regiment of Georgians from General "Tiger" Anderson's brigade, and held the enemy in check until the gallant Anderson, with the remainder of his command, swept around the left of our position, struck the enemy in flank, capturing an entire brigade with its colors. This magnificent manœuvre was directed by the dashing Mahone and performed under his eyes, as I can testify. It was the quick conception of one of the greatest military leaders of the war between the sections-of a soldier well worthy of the mantle of Stonewall Jackson. After the brilliant feat of the glorious Georgians, our picket line was soon re-established; but not without the sacrifice of some brave men.

Conspicuous for gallantry was a handsome young artilleryman, not out of his teens, who, when not engaged with his cannon, would borrow rifles from the infantrymen, stand up, while others were protected by breastworks, and with deliberate aim fire at his man, regardless of the continuous shower of bullets to which he was exposed. Finally he was shot down, desperately wounded, and borne off the field to the residence of Mr. Hogsden, which was made a field hospital.

Subsequently Adjutant Griffin F. Edwards, a youth of twenty years, of our Sixty-first Virginia regiment, infantry, while gallantly rallying his men to recover the lost picket line in front of his regiment, was also severely wounded. After dark he was taken to the field hospital. The yard was

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THE LAST VICTORY OF THE LOST CAUSE.

strewn with the wounded and dead; the kitchen, out-houses, and even the stables were full of bleeding men. There was one vacant place in the parlor of the old mansion where a blanket was spread for Adjutant Edwards. The soldier nearest happened to be the brave artillery boy who had been shot down while acting as a voluntary infantryman, as above stated, and he appeared to be in the agonies of death. Although severely wounded, the chivalrous Edwards ministered all in his power; and as he gave him a drink of water from his canteen, the boy whispered: "My name is Minor." For three days these wounded sufferers remained without surgeons or nurses. Then the wounded companions were separated and unknown to each other, until recently, after twenty-nine years, Adjutant Edwards, now a prominent lawyer in Virginia, by accident ascertained that the comrade whom he believed dead is living, in the person of Launcelot Minor, colonel of the Second Regiment of Infantry, Arkansas State Guards, and a prominent lawyer of Newport, in that state.

When Private Minor recovered consciousness he found a note pinned to the inside of his shirt, requesting that in case he died some one would give him decent burial, and a five-dollar, gold piece was enclosed in the note to pay the expense. He still has the gold coin and wants to know from whom it came.

The shadows of evening found our weary and starving soldiers in full possession of the battlefield at Cumberland Church and rejoicing over their last victory. The only rations which could be issued on this retreat were a few ears of corn to each soldier, but these men were of that pure metal which yields neither to danger nor hunger.

Soon after dark the troops were withdrawn from this line of battle, and proceeded on the march toward Appomattox, where Mahone returned the silken trophies, which were so gallantly won at Cumberland Church, to his released prisoners. I was left to cover the retreat, with orders to withdraw my pickets from the line at three o'clock a. m., and follow the army.

The long hours of darkness and anxiety dragged heavily along, while ever watchful pickets experienced the unpleasant anticipations of being killed or captured. On the hour and the minute we quietly withdrew from the field of the last victory of the lost cause. About eight o'clock next morning, the seventh of April, 1865, we overtook the army, and though desperately tired, rejoiced with a "rebel yell " over our escape from capture, for which we received the congratulations of General Mahone. The following night we built our camp-fires on the brow of a hill and rested on our arms in line of battle for the last time. Before another sun gained the meridian, our arms were stacked and our battle-flags furled forever on the hills of Appomattox,

AN ESCAPE FROM ANDERSONVILLE.

373

H

AN ESCAPE FROM ANDERSONVILLE.

BY FRANCIS WALLACE.

·EROES are plentiful after every war, because it is only in times of danger that the latent energies, stamina and sentiment of men are developed; no one can even judge himself, his courage no more than his endurance, until subjected to such supreme test as battle venture imposes. Now, at the close of the Spanish-American war, Uncle Sam rejoices in his noble sons who fought from merciful instincts, with compassion for the wrongs of Cubans, but always with impetuosity and unquenchable daring. Among the many humble heroes of our last war is Captain Francis Wallace, of the training ship "New Hampshire," whose adventures began when he was a boy, and whose life has been a succession of stirring, and generally daring events. His earliest danger was encountered in running the English blockade of the Baltic Sea, carrying guns to Russia, during the Crimean

war.

When the famous "foreign brigade" marched to the relief of Lucknow, in the terrible days of the Indian mutiny, Captain Wallace was one of the members; for two years he was on the Grinnell expedition searching in the arctic regions for Sir John Franklin; he was pilot of the "Monitor" in the famous battle with the "Merrimac;" he was a prisoner in Andersonville, from which he escaped after terrible sufferings and perils; he was with Farragut and Dewey at Mobile bay and New Orleans; he fell from a ship when many miles from

land off the coast of Spain, and was rescued after being in the water Adrift in the Ocean. twenty-two hours. After serving on the "Monitor" for some time, Cap

tain Wallace joined the fleet further south. While cruising on a scouting party with Lieutenant Cushing-who destroyed the "Albemarle "-Captain Wallace and a coxswain named Riley were captured and taken to the Confederate prison at Camp Andersonville, where so many of the Union prisoners died. Escape was almost impossible, but Captain Wallace was one of the fortunate few who succeeded in crawling across the dead line, under the kindly shelter of midnight darkness, and the special protection of Providence. Indeed, his life is a singular illustration of the exceptional fortune that belongs to the few, which seems to set at naught the laws of chance, and to furnish proof of the fatalistic doctrine "what is to be, will be." His life is not a romance, for it has been too invariable with hardships and hair-breadth escape, but it has been a strange one, that has run the whole gamut of human vicissitudes, and survived perils greater and more numerous than the pages of fiction have ever recorded. Some day, it is possible, Captain Wallace may conclude that posterity is entitled to read the story of his truly marvelous adventures, and will subject his modesty to the task of writing it, but to the present the following narrative is the only one he has ever been persuaded to write:

After I had been at Andersonville for three weeks, I made up my mind that if I stayed there long I would either be shot by the guards or die from sickness and lack of food. So I made up my mind to escape. Riley, the coxswain, and two Union soldiers were in the plan with me. For several days we saved up what food we could-it wasn't much-and one dark night we crept out to the dead line. We had to kill three sentries

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before reaching the stockade. We climbed over the stockade and pushed on in the darkness until we came to a river. There we separated. The soldiers wanted to push on across the country, but I knew we would be followed by bloodhounds, so after they left us Riley and I swam across the river and back three times, walking up and down the bank on each side in order to throw the bloodhounds off the trail. Then we climbed to the top of a big live-oak tree.

From our station in the tree we could see the Confederates leave the camp in pursuit. They passed under the tree a number of times, but never thought of looking for us so near the camp. We stayed up in that tree for sixty-three hours, with some bacon rinds and pieces of cornbread as our only food. It was very cold at night, and we were far from comfortable, but we did not wish to go down until the pursuit had died away a little. Then I hailed a negro who was passing.

tree.

"Lawd a' massa," said he, when he saw us coming down from the "The soldiers have been looking everywhere for you."

The darkey got us an old canoe and we made the trip to the coast. We traveled at night, and lay alongside of the bank during the day. When we reached the seacoast our troubles were by no means ended. All along the coast were divisions of the home guard, and they captured us.

In the Water With Sharks.

Four miles off the coast, almost out of sight of land, lay the United States gunboat "Unadilla." The waters of the South swarm with sharks, and no one for an instant suspected that we would dare to swim to the gunboat, so their vigilance was somewhat relaxed. But as there was no way of signaling the boat, we decided to swim for it. At midnight we slipped away from our guards and made our way to the beach. There a new danger awaited us. The southern waters are very phosphorescent at night, and if a man swims through them he leaves a trail which can be plainly seen. So Riley and I crept out as far as we could, keeping our bodies under water, and making no splashing. When we reached our depth, we struck out for the boat, swimming very cautiously until we were well out of gunshot. It was a mighty unpleasant experience. Four miles is a long swim for a man in the pink of condition, and we had been living on short rations for a long time. Then, too, we were afraid of sharks, and a number of times during the swim I drew up my legs suddenly and began to splash, thinking I had felt a shark giving a little nibble at my toes preparatory to a full meal.

At last we got within hailing distance of the "Unadilla." I shouted to her, but at first they did not pay any attention to the hail. The Confederates were in the habit of rowing out near the gunboats at night, towing