, but that he had disappeared; that I could not track him far and soon gave it up, concluding I would never see him again.
I certainly laid down that night one of Lee's Miserables, as we used to term ourselves, after reading Victor Hugo's great novel — a soldier edition of his works in Confederate sheep's wool paper having been d or for any other hour in all the tide of time.
But for frequency and pertinacity of attack, and repetition and constancy of repulse, I question if the left of General Lee's line on the 10th of May, 1864, has ever been surpassed.
I cannot pretend to identify the separate attacks or to distinguish between them, but should think thervice which, in the opinion of prominent officers thoroughly acquainted with the facts and every way competent and qualified to judge, was deemed to have saved General Lee's army from being cut in twain.
There is one other feature or incident of the closing fight of the 10th of May which may be worthy of record, not alone beca