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100 Colonel's command, but that it was the best way for him to retrace his steps. Our Colonel then, in a voice like thunder, called out to him, "Come here, you rascal!" but he paid very little attention to the Colonel's summons and began to endeavour to free himself from what, I suppose, he thought a bad neighbourhood. Upon which our Colonel ordered the whole regiment to rise from their ambush and fire upon them; the order was quickly obeyed and served to quicken their steps considerably. Our horsemen had, while these transactions were in progress, by going round behind a small wood, got into their rear. We followed the enemy hard up, and when they met our horsemen there was a trifle of clashing; a part forced themselves past our Cavalry and escaped, about thirty were taken and a number killed. We had none killed and but two or three of the horsemen slightly wounded. The enemy were armed with short rifles.

There was an Irishman belonging to our Infantry, who, after the affray was over, seeing a wounded man belonging to the enemy, lying in the road and unable to help himself, took pity on him, as he was in danger of being trodden upon by the horses, and having shouldered him was staggering off with his load, in order to get him to a place of more safety; while crossing a small worn out bridge over a very muddy brook, he happened to jostle the poor fellow more than usual, who cried out "Good rebel, don't hurt poor Hushman." "Who do you call a rebel, you scoundrel?" said the Irishman, and tossed him off his shoulders as unceremoniously as though he had been a log of wood; he fell with his head into the mud, and as I passed I saw him struggling for life, but I had other business on my hands than to stop to assist him. I did sincerely pity the poor mortal, but pity him was all I could then do. What became of him after I saw him in the mud, I never knew; most likely he there made his final exit. The Infantry marched off with the prisoners, and left the horsemen to keep the field, till we were out of danger with our prize, consequently I never heard any thing more of him. But the Irishman reminded me "that the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel."

Soon after this I had another fatiguing job to perform. There was a Militia officer, a Colonel, (his name I have forgotten, though I think it was Jones,) who had