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To the field officers of the regiments was largely due the efficiency of Martin's Brigade. Colonel William F. Martin, Lieutenant-Colonel Thomas H. Sharpe, Lieutenant-Colonel John C. Lamb, and Major Lucius J. Johnson, of the Seventeenth; Colonel John E. Brown, Lieutenant-Colonel Charles W. Bradshaw, and Major T. J. Brown, of the Forty-second; Colonel A. D. Moore, Colonel John H. Nethercutt, Lieutenant-Colonel Clement G. Wright, and Major David S. Davis, of the Sixty-sixth, were each and all brave, intelligent, faithful, and true under all circumstances. Nearly all of these

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This communication will be followed by a sketch of the operations of Kirkland's Brigade in North Carolina.



Late Captain and A. A. G.

[From the New Orleans Picayune, January 26, 1896.]


Editor Picayune :

When, in the middle of that dark night, we heard the signal of those three guns fired in rapid succession, we hastened to take the position on the line which had been assigned to us. At the same time the enemy opened a brisk cannonade, which lasted only a few minutes. Evidently he was already up and getting ready for that battle which was to make the 13th of December, 1862, so memorable. Of the 190,000 men thus awakened before the sun had risen, 2, 145 were going to die before that sun would set.

One was placed

Our six guns had been posted in extended order. on Marye's Hill, immediately on the left of the plank road leading to Fredericksburg. Immediately on the right of that road stood our old friends, the Washington Artillery. About four hundred yards to the left was our Gun No. 4.

This gun was a United States three-inch rifle, captured in one of the battles around Richmond. It still bore, written on its stock, the name of General George A. McCall, who was made prisoner in the same battle, together with many of his men.

The pit in which this gun had been placed was on the crest of a hill projecting considerably in advance of a straight continuation of our line. Between this hill and the town the ground was boggy, and there was no infantry nor artillery in our immediate frontnothing but Mrs. Washington's tomb offering food for meditation, which few, if any, indulged in at that time.

As the heavy fog of that morning disappeared we beheld the enemy debouching from the town, forming in line and marching bravely to the attack. Until we saw them advancing, we had no idea of the splendid position of that gun. It could enfilade them as easy as rolling off a log-and it did it with a hearty good will.

The enemy was not slow in perceiving this, and to silence that gun became object worthy of their attempt. To accomplish this the heavy guns on Stafford's heights began to pay us their respects. If only one of their shells had fallen in our pit it would have silenced many a voice besides that of our gun. Fortunately for us none did, but unfortunately for the infantry supporting us, some did fall among them, as usual, and killed many.

from the town, and We let it play on,

Presently a battery of six guns sallied forth appearing in our front, began to play on us. preferring the enfilading game, which was more interesting and more profitable. According to General Ransom's report this battery was reinforced by another of four guns. We did not count them.

A little later a number of sharpshooters from many windows before us began to send us those little bullets which kill more men than your big cannon balls. These guns soon got the range on us to such a fine point that almost every shot hit the epaulement of our pit and ricochetted over our heads.. We had now to load and fire kneeling.

We then beheld a grand spectacle. Instead of falling back, like all its predecessors before the rapid and well-directed fire of the Washington Artillery and our double line of infantry, one regiment kept on advancing in the face of this storm of lead and iron.

It kept on advancing until it had reached a declivity at the foot of Marye's Hill, where the men squatted in comparative security. What followed is more than your humble servant can describe. He will, therefore, let the naked facts speak for themselves.

Having rested a moment, the commanding officer ascended that declivity, followed by his color-bearer, and within pistol-shot of the star-spangled cross the star-spangled banner waved defiantly. Rais

ing his sword, he called aloud, urging his men to follow their flag. But the flag had gone too far and they did not follow. Before so much bravery anger seemed to give way to admiration, and of those thousand muskets still warm with the fire which had thinned his ranks, there was but one that had the courage to fire-and the colorbearer fell.

He was, doubtless, killed in conformity with the usages of civilized warfare. Nevertheless we were sorry to see him fall, and the body of that dead enemy, lying beside the flag he had so bravely carried, formed an image which rose far above that of the living who had killed him.

If anything can ever bring reconciliation between such foes, it is the respect which such bravery must ever command.

The flag did not remain long on the ground. A man stepped forward and raised it. For several minutes these two men stood on the hill, looking defiantly in the very eyes of death which glared at them from every muzzle of a thousand guns. Despairing to bring his men to the assault, the officer and his solitary companion finally returned to the shelter offered by the declivity at the foot of the hill, and the threatened charge was not attempted again.

In the meantime, General Longstreet, who had seen this advance and shelter behind that hill, apprehended the very assault which was attempted a few minutes later, and perceiving that this gun of ours was the only one that could reach it, he sent Major Osman Latrobe, ordering the commanding officer thereof to direct his fire against that body of the enemy in order to dislodge it.

But to execute this order, it was necessary, first of all, to move the gun out of the pit, because it could not be depressed within range of the objective point without bringing the muzzle below the epaulement and against the wall of the pit. And to take it out at this moment was tantamount to sending it, with its whole detachment, to almost certain destruction without hardly any hope of success. But even to move it out could not be done unless it were done between shots, and to do this between shots was almost impossible, because these shots were following each other so rapidly that they shut us down, as it were, under solid bars of iron projectiles.

So far we had had a pic-nic. So far it had been child's play. But now our cannoneers had before them work fit to try any man's soul! And, thank God, they did it like men whose souls had been tried.

It is simple justice to say there was not a man who went out of that pit without believing he was going out to die-and yet they went without hesitation.

And they succeeded in getting that gun out; but, alas! they did not succeed in getting out between shots, for as they merged above ground the next shot came and, bursting in their midst, killed as good and brave a man as ever lived-Claudius Linossier.

Wonderful to relate, it killed no other, wounded none, and left our gun uninjured and ready to do its duty. And well did it do its duty, for our good gunner, Tomasso Morelli, did not miss a single shot, which, even now, we can see plowing those brave men huddled up behind that hill.

By taking that gun on the open hill it had been raised about three feet above and moved some twenty feet to the right of its former position. Our opponents, therefore, had to alter their aim accordingly. Before they recovered it our men had time to fire five rounds, giving their undivided attention to the task assigned them, not noticing the ten guns, the sharpshooters, and the heavy guns, whose shots were plowing the ground around them.

The gun was loaded for the sixth time when the first shot that struck it knocked it down and wounded nearly every man except Major Latrobe, our young lieutenant and No. 5, who was getting the seventh round from an ammunition chest in the pit.

In connection with this triangular fight, two facts are worthy of note. The first shell that struck us killed but one man and wounded none; the second wounded several but killed none. This is not an isolated case. Engaged in as many battles as any battery in the service, the Donaldsonville artillery lost less men than any. may call this chance, but we give it a better and a holier name.


Of all our wounded, Dernon Le Blane was the only one who could not walk. We carried him back to our pit, which we found quite comfortable. One of his heels had been shot off. Not less brave than Achilles, he was more fortunate, for that heel cost him only one foot.

With a face all bloody from a wound in the head, Morelli recollected that the gun was loaded. He went out and fired it. If it was no longer well aimed it was at least pointing in the right direction. We do not know what was the result of this last shot fired by a wounded Confederate from a disabled Yankee gun.

To Major Latrobe, who put his shoulder to the wheel to help us take out the gun, and who stood by us all the while, cheering us

with his presence and his words, the Donaldsonville Artillery owes much of the honor which this action added to its name.

After all, history and official reports to the contrary notwithstanding, we did not dislodge that enemy, who only hugged the ground more closely and stole away after dark.

If we did not succeed, we had the satisfaction of having tried.


[From the Rockbridge County News, November 28, 1895.]


[The following tribute to General Stuart appeared in the London Index soon after his death. It is republished now in the County News, by request, from a copy of the original paper.]

Since the death of Stonewall Jackson, the Confederacy has sustained no heavier loss than has befallen her in the untimely close of the brilliant career of Major-General James E. B. Stuart. No two men could have been more opposite types of the soldier-Jackson, the earnest, devoted patriot, taking up arms as a last resort, clinging, even on the eve of the most terrible battles, to the hope of peace, struggling between the dictates of duty towards the land of his birth and the impulses of a nature averse to strife, but terrible in the field, and leading on his troops with that fiery zeal which made the soldiers of the Commonwealth invincible; Stuart, the gallant cavalier, a warrior by instinct, of that fine metal which made Prince Rupert's horsemen, who in their pride of loyalty made even Cromwell's Ironsides recoil from their furious onslaught. Both born leaders of men, and inspiring their followers with the same confidence and devotion, they trod the same path, fought the same fight, and have shared the same fate-struck down in the front of the battle at the moment of victory, with the cheers of triumph ringing in their ears a fitting requiem. This terrible war demands cruel sacrifices. The noblest and the best freely offer up their lives to it. Let us hope that as Stonewall Jackson's memory is illustrated forever by the glorious victory of Chancellorsville; so the death of this young Virginian hero will hereafter record another, and even a more decisive triumph, and that the final despair of the North will date from the fierce struggle now disfiguring the valleys and the woodlands of Spotsylvania.

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