Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 25.
Reverend J. William Jones, Ed.

A short time before the battle of the Second Manassas, there came from this town to join the Liberty Hall Volunteers a fine lad, whose parents, living here, were dear friends of General Jackson. The general asked him to stop at his headquarters for a few days before joining his company, and he slept and messed with us. We all became much attached to the young fellow, and Jackson, in his gentle, winning way, did his best to make him feel at home and at his ease; the lad's manners were so gentle, kindly and diffident, and his beardless, blue-eyed, boyish face so manly and so handsome. Just before the battle he reported for duty with his company. The night of the day of the great battle I was telling the general of the wounded, as we stood over a fire where black Jim, his servant, was making some coffee. I mentioned many of the wounded and their condition, and presently, calling by name the lad we all loved, told him that he was mortally wounded. Jim, faithful, brave, big-hearted Jim, God bless his memory! rolled on the ground, groaning in his agony of grief; but the general's face was a study. The muscles were twitching convulsively and his eyes were all aglow. He gripped me by the shoulder till it hurt me, and in a savage, threatening manner asked why I left the boy. In a few seconds he recovered himself, and turned and walked off into the woods alone. He soon came back, however, and I continued my report of the wounded and the dead. We were still sitting by the fire, drinking the coffee out of our tin cups, when I said: ‘We have won this battle by the hardest kind of fighting.’ And he answered me very gently and softly: ‘No, no; we have won it by the blessing of Almighty God.’

When General Gregg, of South Carolina, was wounded at Fredericksburg, an interesting incident occurred. General Jackson had had some misunderstanding with Gregg, the nature of which I do not now recall. The night after this gallant gentleman and splendid soldier was mortally wounded, I told General Jackson, as I generally did of friends or prominent men killed and wounded. General Gregg was one of the most courteous and gallant gentlemen that I had ever known. He exposed himself that day in a way that seemed unneccessary, so much so indeed, that Colonel Pendleton, of Jackson's staff, rode up to him and, knowing he was quite deaf, shouted to him that the Yankees were shooting at him. ‘Yes, sir, thank you,’ he replied, ‘they have been doing so all day.’ When I told General Jackson that Gregg was badly injured, he said: ‘I wish you would go back and see him, I want you to see him.’ I demurred