Browsing named entities in Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Documents and Narratives, Volume 2. (ed. Frank Moore). You can also browse the collection for Jack or search for Jack in all documents.

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Up hills, down into valleys, with the silent grim woods forever by our sides. Now and then, in the profound gloom, broken only by a spark from the horse's hoof, came a dull but familiar sound like the shutting of a distant door. As I approached Washington, having left the Colonel and his escort at some seven miles on the south side of the Long Bridge, I found the grand guards, pickets' posts, and individual sentries burning for news, and the word used to pass along, What does that man say, Jack? Begorra, he tells me we're not bet at all — only retraiting to the ould lines for convaniency of fighting to-morrow again. Oh, that's illigant! On getting to the tete de pont, however, the countersign was demanded; of course, I had not got it. But the officer passed me through on the production of Gen. Scott's safeguard. The lights of the city were in sight; and reflected by the waters of the Potomac, just glistened by the clouded moon, shone the gay lamps of the White House, where the P
s. He took deliberate aim, but, unlike the parson, after every fire he added the invariable formula, God d — n your secession souls, how do you like the Yankees? Another, an Englishman, was wounded. Steedman noticed him limping and called out Jack, are you wounded? Yes, I'm ‘it. Where are you hit, Jack? Oh, I'm ‘it in the ‘ip, but--(in great anxiety lest Steedman should send him to the hospital) but it don't ‘urt me. I'm only ‘it in the ‘ip; it don't ‘urt me, and away he blazed with anotJack? Oh, I'm ‘it in the ‘ip, but--(in great anxiety lest Steedman should send him to the hospital) but it don't ‘urt me. I'm only ‘it in the ‘ip; it don't ‘urt me, and away he blazed with another load, somewhat profanely adding, God d — n you, I guess I paid you off that time. Agate. Cincinnati Commercial narrative. camp Dupont, Carrick's Ford, 8 miles south of St. George, Tucker County, Va., July 13. I have a dismal recollection of a dreary, weary, forced march of nineteen miles over almost impassable mountain roads, mud knee-deep, with a steady heavy rain falling all the way and terminating in a fierce engagement of half an hour, the total rout