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Battle of Richmond, Kentucky.
August 30, 1862, 12 o'clock. On the battle field.
We have had a hard fight of three hours duration, have routed the enemy with great slaughter, and are now resting in an apple orchard.
About daylight we were in line of battle, and moved forward about two miles, when we filed off into the turnpike and resumed the rout step.
We were under the impression that the enemy had fled as usual upon our approach, and were marching quietly and carelessly along about 8 o'clock, when all of a sudden, like a clap of thunder in a clear sky, the report of a cannon rung out on the morning air and a shell came whizzing over our heads.
The head of the column immediately filed off into the woods and we were again drawn up in battle array.
‘Forward, march!’
shouted our gallant
Colonel Fitzgerald, and the gray line steadily advanced through a heavy fire from the
Yankee batteries, until we reached a rail fence, where we encountered the infantry, who were strongly posted on the opposite side of an old field, and from the skirt of the woods opened on us with a galling volley of musketry.
And a desolating fire it was, for it deprived the One Hundred and Fifty-fourth Tennessee regiment of its beloved leader.
The brave and gallant
Fitzgerald fell dead from his horse before he heard our shout of victory.
He was shot through the heart and expired instantly.
Colonel Fitzgerald entered the
Confederate service as
Captain of a company raised in
Paris, Tenn., where he was a promising young lawyer.
At the reorganization of the One Hundred and Fifty-fourth Tennessee, at
Corinth, he was elected
Colonel, and by his kind consideration of the comfort of his men had won for himself the esteem of the entire regiment.
He was universally popular, and his loss will be severely felt.
His first, last, and only command in action was, ‘Forward, march!’
Dr. Barbour, and
Billy Goodlett, of the ‘Maynard Rifles,’ were both wounded by the same volley that cut short the brilliant career of the chivalric young
Fitzgerald.
We held our position behind the fence for some minutes under a continous stream of fire, wondering why we were not ordered to charge, when all at once a tremendous roar of musketry broke out on the flank of the enemy, and
Lieutenant-Colonel Mageveney, who had assumed command of the regiment, rode along the lines, and in his rich Irish brogue, shouted: ‘Mount the fence lads; mount the fence, and at 'em; charge!’
No sooner was the command given, than one wild
