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 given. There was in one of the regiments a Quartermaster who was noted for his elegant uniform and splendid trappings. During the progress of the fight this gentleman rode up on Slaughter's Mountain, where he was spied by rough old Ewell, who thus accosted him: “I say, you man with the fine clothes on! Who are you, and where do you belong?” Being informed, with all possible dignity, that he was “Captain------, Quartermaster of the------Virginia regiment,” the grim old soldier threw up both hands and exclaimed: “Great heavens! a Quartermaster on a battle-field; who ever heard of such a thing before? But as you are here I will make you useful as well as ornamental,” and thereupon he sent him with a message which carried him under very heavy fire. The gallant Quartermaster carried the message and brought the answer, but says that he soon after discovered that his train needed looking after, and never ventured near General Ewell during a battle again. Another gallant Quartermaster, Major J. G. Field, of General A. P. Hill's staff, rendered most important service, going, as was his wont, into the thickest of the fight, until he was severely wounded. His wound caused the loss of his leg, but he returned after a short absence to render valuable service until the surrender, and recently filled with ability the office of Attorney-General of Virginia. When our men found out from prisoners that General Banks commanded the opposing forces, they raised the shout: “Get your requisitions ready, boys! Put down everything you want! Old ‘Stonewall's Quartermaster’ has come with a full supply for issue!” I saw A. P. Hill that day as he was putting his “Light division” into battle, and was very much struck with his appearance. In his shirt-sleeves and with drawn sword he sought to arrest the stragglers who were coming to the rear, and seeing a Lieutentant in the number, he rode at him and fiercely inquired: “Who are you, sir, and where are you going?” The trembling Lieutenant replied: “I am going back with my wounded friend.” Hill reached down and tore the insignia of rank from his collar as he roughly said: “You are a pretty fellow to hold a commission — deserting your colors in the presence of the enemy, and going to the rear with a man who is scarcely badly enough wounded to go himself. I reduce you to the ranks, sir, and if you do not go to the front and do your duty, I'll have you shot as soon as I can spare a file of men for the purpose.” And then clearing the road, he hurried forward his men to the splendid service which was before them. I have not left myself space to give a full sketch of the truce, but
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