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[335] were perforated with bullets, yet I escaped without a wound, the only living man to tell the fearful story.

As soon as I could control my horse, rendered frantic by his wounds, I rode among our men, who were falling back into the woods, and from behind the trees were still continuing that reckless and insane fire, and urging them to form their line and come back to the road, telling them that they had fired not upon the enemy, but upon General Jackson and his escort.

Then sick at heart I dashed back to the road, and there the saddest tragedy of the war was revealed in its fullest horror.

I saw the General's horse, which I recognized at once, standing close to the edge of the road, with his head bent low, and a stream of blood running from a wound in his neck. Jumping from my horse I hastened to the spot and saw the General himself lying in the edge of the woods. He seemed to be dead, and I wished all the bullets had passed through my own body rather than such a happening as this. I threw myself on the ground by his side and raised his head and shoulders on my arm. He groaned heavily.

“Are you much hurt, General?” I asked, as soon as I could find voice and utterance.

“Wild fire, that sir; Wild fire,” he replied, in his usual rapid way. This was all he said. I found that his left arm was shattered by a bullet just below the elbow, and his right hand was lacerated by a minie ball that passed through the palm. Not a living soul was in sight then, but in a few moments A. P. Hill rode up, and then Lieutenant Smith, one of his aids. General Hill ordered me to mount my horse and bring an ambulance as quickly as possible. ‘But don't tell the men that it is General Jackson who is wounded,’ he said. I soon found two of the ambulance corps with a stretcher, and ordered them to the front, saying that a wounded officer needed their services. Then I rode further on to find an ambulance. Before coming up with one I met Sandy Pendleton, Jackson's adjutant-general, told him what had occurred, and he ordered me to go and find General J. E. B. Stuart and tell him to come up at once.

“Where shall I find him?” I asked.

“Somewhere near the Rappahannock,” he replied, ‘not more than four or five miles away.’

I rode off through the woods in the direction of the river, and by a piece of good luck soon struck a well-defined road, which seemed to lead in the right direction. After riding along that road for a few miles I had the good fortune to meet General Stuart himself with a

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