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[346] rifles. He was considering how his men should best cross the field and dislodge the opposing skirmishers. To the Adjutant of the regiment who ran to his support, he said, ‘It has killed me,’ and fell.

A moment afterwards two of his men bore him toward a little farm-house between the first line of battle and the skirmish line. His beautiful face, hanging back towards the ground, was recognized by the general commanding the division, and his staff. The sun was behind a cloud. The general bade a member of his staff see what could be done for the favorite officer. It was the friend who had slept with Temple the night before. This comrade supported him in his arms, and, as he looked into his seemingly conscious face, bade him good by, and said a few words in reference to his well-known wishes; but there came no answer. He was dead. Tenderly he was lifted up and carried into the farm-house, and there left, with a soldier as a guard.

Meantime the advance was continued. But an hour after,. General Hooker had decided not to fight that day. The grand advance was after all but a reconnoissance, and the army fell back toward the Chancellorsville House. The glorious day for the final surrender was yet far off, but to Temple this was a day of victory.

Before the division fell back, his body was tied upon a horse and taken a couple of miles to the rear, where it was placed in a rough coffin made of ordnance-chests. There were no means of transporting it across the river, and it was left by the roadside, the soldier still standing as sentinel, till the officers of the regiment returned. That evening it was necessary to bury the body, for the lines then held might be abandoned during the night. Soon after dark a grave was dug by four men of the company, under a large oak within three rods of the line of battle. But three officers could be present, for the enemy, grown bold at the retreat, now meditated an attack upon us, and just before the coffin was lowered the attack came like a sudden shower. First came a few scattering shots, and then the swelling roar of thousands of muskets. It was a funeral

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