batteries joined in, and sent a shell crashing into the Tishomingo Hotel, filled with Union wounded, killing a soldier.

It was half-past nine when Hebert's Confederate division came out from the woods and advanced against Davies. The long lines of men in gray came into the clearing. Gates's brigade led the movement upon Fort Richardson. A storm beat in their faces; men dropped, but the column pressed on up the gentle ascent, rushing at last up to the line of breastworks, and leaped over them. Captain Richardson, for whom the fort was named, goes down, and his gunners are shot. The infantry supporting the battery are driven. The troops retreat towards the town, followed by the Confederates. McLean's Confederate brigade captures Fort Powell. Gates's men rush on into the town, charging up almost to Rosecrans's headquarters; but they are confronted by the Tenth Ohio and Fifth Minnesota and Immell's battery. Mark Hampton's house is riddled with bullets. Seven Confederates go down in front of it; but the wave which has rolled so far and so triumphantly has spent its force.

Going up the Purdy Road, we come to Hamilton's division. His batteries are sending shells westward, and we see Sullivan's brigade falling upon the Confederates, the Fifty-sixth Illinois sweeping them out of Fort Powell and recapturing it.

The Confederates under General Maury advanced against Forts Robinett and Williams. The thirty-pounder Parrotts opened upon them, but still the Texans and Mississippians pressed on.

"Forward! Charge!"

It was Colonel Rogers, of Texas, commanding a brigade, who gave the order. He had a battle-flag in his hand and led his men. Canister mowed them down, but they reached the ditch in front of the fort, and halted to take breath. Just so, at the battle of Buena Vista, the Mexicans halted when they should have advanced, and were mercilessly cut down. There are times in battle when moments are priceless. Such a crisis had arrived at Corinth. It was but a moment that they stood irresolute, but in that brief instant the Confederates lost a possible victory. Down into the ditch leaped the brave Rogers, his men following; climbing the parapet, but all to tumble headlong, pierced by bullets.

Little did Colonel Rogers suspect what a tempest would burst upon him; that the Ohio Brigade was close at hand biding its time, and that the Eleventh Missouri also was there.

For a few moments only can such a contest last-men firing into one another's faces, scores going down at every volley; men stabbing at one another with their bayonets and striking with the butts of their guns.

The contest was

soon over, the Confederates fleeing over ground thickly strewn with killed and wounded. A few moments ago the Sixtythird Ohio numbered two hundred and fifty, now only one hundred and twenty-five. In front of Fort Robinett fifty-six Confederates are lying, piled one upon another.

The defeat was so decisive that Van Dorn ordered the instant retreat of his army. Before noon the shattered columns were gone, with Rosecrans in pursuit. General Ord was at Bolivar. He had started for Corinth while the battle was raging, intending to attack Van Dorn in the rear. He had four thousand men-Hurlbut's division. Van Dorn hastened west to get beyond the Hatchie River. Ord met him at the river. Confederate cavalry held the bridge, but Ord took possession of a hill and commanded the approach to the bridge with his cannon.

The Confederate troops charged upon the hill, but were driven by Ord, who was wounded in the mêlée. General Hurlbut then assumed command of the Union troops, and the battle went on, Hurlbut trying to get possession of the bridge.

Van Dorn saw that a net was closing around him. The cavalry scouts brought word that another body of Union troops under General McPherson was coming from the west. No time was to be lost. He turned his train into a narrow road leading south along the east bank of the river, towards Crum's Mill, and made a show of fighting till they were well under way, then withdrew his troops, losing in the battle of Hatchie eight cannon and three hundred men. He reached Ripley, but with a sadly demoralized army. Of his soldiers, more than fourteen hundred had been killed, and he had lost altogether more than eight thousand men. He had failed in what he set out to accomplish-to capture Corinth and compel the Union troops to abandon West Tennessee. It was the last effort of the Confederate army to regain that section of country.

October has come.

Buell is at Louisville. He has reorganized his army, and begins a movement against Bragg, who is at Bardstown. Kirby Smith, with the Confederate troops which came from Knoxville, is at Frankfort. Buell advances, and Bragg sullenly falls back to Chaplin Hills, near Perryville. It is a beautiful country, a region of smooth fields, corn-lands, farm-houses, woods, and pastures on the Chaplin River, a small stream winding in graceful curves. Bragg has sixty thousand men. He intended to choose his ground and fight a defensive battle, but half of his troops are under Smith, thirty miles away. He suddenly changes his plan. He sees McCook's and Gilbert's divisions of Buell's army approaching

Perryville, and resolves to attack McCook and annihilate him before the other division can come to his aid.

On the 7th of October Daniel McCook's brigade of Sheridan's division, Gilbert's corps, is approaching Perryville on the road leading to Springfield. The roads are deep with dust, the ground parched, the springs dry, the men and horses suffering for want of water. The videttes reach a little stream, Doctor's Creek, and stop to fill their canteens, when there comes a rattling fire upon them from Confederate skirmishers sent out by Bragg. Sheridan brings Hiscock's and Barnet's batteries to the front, and after a brief cannonade the Confederates retire.

General Buell and staff ride to the top of the ridge overlooking the country towards Perryville, and dismount in front of Carlin's brigade, looking over the ground with their glasses. No Confederate troops are in sight, but they are aware that a battle is imminent. "Well, Carlin, to-morrow you will have all the fighting you want!" is the remark of Colonel Fry. "Have you confidence in your troops?" Buell asks. “I will trust them anywhere," is the reply.

The rising sun of October 8th shines through the morning haze. The soldiers know that a battle is at hand, but it is nearly ten o'clock before the cannon open their lips.