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A correspondent writing from near Yorktown, Va., April twenty-ninth, says:
The best work of the morning was reducing to a state of permanent inutility in this mundane sphere a negro rifleman, who, through his skill as a marksman, has done more injury to our men than a dozen of his white compeers, in the attempted labor of reducing the complement of our sharp-shooters.
Our men have known him a long time, have kept an eye on him, have lain in wait for him. His habit has been to perch himself in a big tree, and, keeping himself hid behind the body, annoy our men by firing upon them.
He climbed the tree this morning in advance of the others coming out, smuggled himself in his position, and was anticipating his usual day of quietude.
Our men might have killed him as he came out, but avoided shooting, so as not to alarm the others.
His tree was about twenty rods from one of our pits.
When our men fired on the advancing rebel pickets, he, of course, saw the fix he was in — that he was decidedly up a tree.
“I say, big nigger,” called out one of our men, “you better come down from there.”
“What for?”
responded the nigger.
“I want you as prisoner.”
“Not as this chile knows of,” replied the concealed Ethiop.
“ Just as you say,” replied our sharp-shooter.
In about an hour the darkey peered his head out. Our man was on the look-out for him; he had his rifle on the bead-line ready — pulled the trigger — whiz went the bullet, and down came the negro.
He was shot through the head.--N. Y. Herald, May 2.
Van Nostrand. New York, New York. 1862.
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