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[403] terrible, a leaden tempest so encircling as to make trees but little protection; while the crashing missiles of Fort Magruder endangered other limbs than those of forest-trees. The hours seemed long. I felt the meaning of “watch and wait.” In vain I strained my eyes through the dim smoke-wreathed aisles of the forest to see the reinforcing battalion whom we knew must be beating wearily through the mud to aid us and save the day. No reinforcements came except fragmentary squads of broken regiments, who served to fill up the depletions. When going after recruits I found a stray Colonel,—Lieutenant-Colonel Wells of the First Massachusetts. He had been separated from his men, and gladly accepted my invitation to take charge of “my little army” while I went over to “Will's regiment,” and obtained some more cartridges, which greatly encouraged the men. . . . . I was several times within a few yards of the enemy, whose line of fire flashed in our very faces. But they never got fully into our covert or discovered our weakness of numbers, except as prisoners; and those prisoners, several times trying to aid and inform their fighting brethren, were knocked down with clubbed muskets.

Carried to Fortress Monroe, he found his own way to Boston a week later, upon his mattress. May was passed at the house of his uncle at Boston, where with equal zest he would speak of his own experiences, or hear those of society and college life from his numerous Cambridge visitors. June was spent at his home in Lawrence, following the progress of the war and enjoying the quiet of his home. With convalescence, early in July, began the irresistible anxiety to return. ‘After the news from Richmond I shall rejoin my regiment at the earliest moment,’ he wrote; and in spite of the warnings of surgeons, and the advice of his regimental commander, he returned upon the 9th of July, arriving at Harrison's Landing on the 18th. He had barely time for a few minutes with his brother, then going North upon recruiting service, and wrote sadly of the company ranks thinned to seventeen. But his letters soon ceased. It was not a fortnight before he was himself fever-struck. He lay sick in his camp for a week, where he wrote his last few lines, still hopeful, and on August 7th he entered the hospital at the Landing. A glimpse of his last days was given through

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