Page:Southern Historical Society Papers volume 33.djvu/66

 62 Southern Historical Society Papers.

yard of Dr. Brockenbrough, the brother of my old friend, Judge John W. Brockenbrough, and his tiny little girl bravely came into the enemy's tent with the maimed and dying and fed with a spoon her fallen defender. (God bless her!) All of their ambulances being engaged hauling their own wounded to the " White House" for shipment North, they fitted up a spring wagon drawn by four horses, by filling the body with pine tags, specially for me alone, and detailed one of my own men, slightly wounded, to wait on me. On my arrival at the wharf, while waiting, my three officers Captain Stratton, Lieutenant Reid, and Lieutenant Anderson (under guard) found me in wagon. I made one of the "Sanitary Commission," constantly passing dispensing every known delicacy to eat and to drink, to their wounded, give them a drink of French brandy, and the driver fill their haversacks from the barrell of provisions in the wagon. I never saw but one of them again.

IN WASHINGTON,' HEARING EARLEY'S GUNS ON THE SUBURBS.

I was shipped hence to Lincoln Hospital, Washington, D. C. While lying on my cot afterwards I could hear the boom of Gen- eral Early 's guns around the walls of the city, after having chased Hunter down the valley from Lynchburg, and I heard the Yankees say, " I believe the rebels will get in in spite of us."

AT FORT DELAWARE AND AT MORRIS ISLAND WITH THE SIX

HUNDRED.

After weary months in Washington, during which time I was shown many kindnesses and attentions from Southern sympathizers, I was carried to Fort Delaware prison. After a lapse of. some time I was drawn in with the lot of six hundred officers to be carried to " Morris Island, " to be placed under the fire of our own guns at Charleston. We were crowded into the dark hole of the vessel, only equalled by the "Black Hole of Calcutta," and packed on shelves like goods in a store, without any light or air, except that driven down a shaft by wind-sails.

On our arrival at our destination we were put in a "stockade pen," between "Fort Wagner and Fort Gregg," and guarded by a negro regiment. For forty-five days we sat upon the sands and witnessed the burning fuses from bombs larger fhan nail kegs con- tinuously fired night and day by our men at the forts. If they overshot the one or undershot the other they'd hit us. But that God that marks even the sparrow's fall, protected us. On the eve