Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 24.
Reverend J. William Jones, Ed.

[206] we conclude it is not sufficient to take the route we marched around Hooker's army; so we take the right and go by Chancellorsville House, through the battlefield, to the place where the private road, along which we marched, runs into the plank road. It looks now just as I remember it looked then, except that there is a gate across it now. Everything looks so natural that I imagine I see the cavalry pickets standing there still. I got out of the vehicle and walked down the road towards Chancellorsville. It is there where we filed to the left, and a short distance in the woods is where we formed line of battle.

The order was given, ‘Forward March!’ and our three divisions move off to strike for all that is dear to freeman. Through the woods we go. I am going over the same ground I went over thirty-three years ago, when I was a boy-soldier of the brave and gallant Essex Sharpshooters.

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Forgot he was old.

My heart beats strong. I forget that I am an old man now. I glide along, I hardly know how, over the same ground. Presently the rattle of the skirmisher's fire is heard in front. The soldiers cheer and go faster. Here is the field where the enemy left their supper cooking. In imagination I see the soldiers again dipping real coffee from the boilers, and blowing and drinking it as they moved along. Some have junks of beef on their bayonets, while their comrades cut slices. Others are stuffing hardtack in their haversacks as they go; for no one can stop; all must keep dressed now. On we go through the woods, dressing our lines as we pass through the fields and openings.

How proudly the men march! How enthuastic they are! How beautifully the emblems of constitutional liberty wave in the breeze! Jackson's corps is sweeping the field! What a grand panorama!

Our gallant brigadier is on foot in front of us. He turns and salutes his brigade with his sword—a compliment which we intend to prove that we deserve ere we stop.

And here is where we were when the enemy attempted to made a stand to check us. A volley from a line of battle is poured into our line to the right of us; but only one. We make no stop. The volley is returned, and we go still faster, while the rebel yell rolls from one end of our lines to the other, and back again. We are moving too fast. The officers storm at the men for not moving slower, when they are only keeping up with the officers. And now the artillery