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‘  desert them, but swam back, rejoined them, was captured with them, and was marched drenching wet to West Point, or rather to the “White House,” and was subsequently sent to Johnson's Island. He was the son of Rev. Mr. Johnston, of the Episcopal Church in Edenton, and married the daughter of Dr. Johnson, of Raleigh. One of his brothers used to laughingly tell him that he had never been married—that Miss Johnson only consented to take t with him. He was the life of the prison on Johnson's Island, though rapidly nearing death with consumption, and used to read the Episcopal service to his fellow-prisoners every Sunday. He used to tell them that he never knew how to appreciate his prayer-book, especially the litany, until he was himself a prisoner and invoked God's “pity upon all prisoners and captives.” He had a young, joyous-hearted brother in my command who is now an Episcopal clergyman in Canada, though he has recently been travelling and preaching in England in the interest of missions. This younger brother took charge of the remains of my youngest boy-brother, killed in action at Chancellorsville, and carried them to Richmond for burial in Hollywood. I have two young hero brothers buried in that beautiful cemetery on Monroe Hill.’
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