vement was at hand.
No papers had come from Washington for some days, and we were left to the mercy of Dame Rumor for all the news we obtained, which was usually scarce worth repeating.
At last there came something definite.
On the morning of June 11, before sunrise, three or four cavalrymen, hatless, coatless, and covered with dust, came galloping into camp with their horses in a reeking sweat.
It seems that a band of Mosby's cavalry surprised their little camp of forty Men—located at Seneca, some six miles down the river—before they were up, killed four, took seventeen prisoners, and fell to plundering the tents.
The remainder of the detachment fought desperately a few moments, but being overpowered, took to flight, having killed one and wounded several of their assailants.
They belonged to the Sixth Michigan.
As soon as the story of the terrified fugitives could be learned, Boot and Saddle was sounded, everything was hastily packed up, and our little force marched breakfa