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1 My impression has always been that Sergeant W. W. Tayleure (of whom hereafter) was one of the other Confederates. Since this paragraph was written, Sergeant Tayleure (now a resident of Brooklyn, N. Y.) has visited Petersburg and informed me that my impression was correct, as he distinctly recollects the old negroe's vigorous fanning of the wounded Confederate as the latter would say to him: ‘Damn you, fan me fast;’ and the old fellow would reply, ‘Yes, sir—yes, sir;’ from the use of which language by the wounded Confederate we may safely infer that he was not as near death's door as for over twenty-five years I believed him to have been, but it is to be hoped that he is to-day somewhere in this world alive and in sound health. Strange to say, Sergeant Tayleure has no recollection of seeing either Comrade Turner or myself in this recess, nor does Comrade Turner recollect seeing Sergeant Tayleure, the wounded Confederate or the old negro.
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