As the marshal stepped toward him, the prisoner took off his hat, placed it on the ground, and as he turned to his coffin he stood face to face for an instant with his executioners, and beyond them the long lines of his comrades who gave him a last, sad, pitying look. However just and necessary the penalty, there is something in such a moment that can scarcely be felt but once, and that at such a time. He was calm and resigned; moved with steady step to his coffin and sat upon it. He said to the marshal that he would rather not have his arms pinioned or his eyes blindfolded, as he was not afraid of the death he was about to meet, but if it was according to custom he would not object. He took his last look of earth. Whether his thoughts were there or elsewhere, God only knows. The day was most beautiful, and the summer's sun in its warmest brightness fell around him. The field was green and wavy in its verdure. It was the last. A handkerchief was placed over his eyes, and his arms and legs were bound. Then only, a slight shudder passed through him. His shirt was ripped open and his breast made bare. All was ready. At the command "attention," the usual word of caution or preparation, they were to fire. The hat was lifted — 10,000 eyes were strained in one breathless gaze - it was lowered, and many eyes withdrew from the sight that was to follow. The report of arms was heard and a lifeless body fell backward to the dust! A comrade had died at the hands of his fellow soldiers by the same death he feared to meet in the ranks of patriotism. He had cravenly deserted them in the hour of danger and had now paid the penalty. Better had he died amid the carnage of the deadly field and won a heroic fame; better had he borne a maimed and shattered body through his waning years; better have nobly done his duty and been honored as one of his country's best defenders in her need! The division marched by the corpse, the burial detail struck their spades into the earth; the body limp and bleeding, with four bullet holes through the heart, was placed in the coffin, the column moved forward to the dusty road on its march, and we leave each to his own reflections. The young man up to an hour before his death expected to be pardoned, as had been done so often in other cases of the death sentence, and as the Army was on the march this expectation was increased. But the Lieutenant in charge of the guard informed him that he must surely die that day, when his demeanor assumed a more serious aspect. Doubtless then his mind turned towards friends with a regret that he had not performed the whole duty of a soldier. William Smith of Company B was one of his guards that day. Thomas Nixon of B, and Joshua Minthorn of C, were on the detail from the Twenty-fourth to do the shooting which was done by a selection of men from the different regiments of the Iron Brigade. The provost marshal informed the shooting party that the man must be killed and that it was better for each one to take good aim and kill him instantly than to wound and only half kill him. They were told that one gun of the twelve was empty or filled with a blank cartridge, and each man of the detail might suppose himself to have that gun. It was a most melancholy experience for all who saw it and one that none could desire to witness again. FORCED MARCH TO CENTERVILLE. After the execution, the column moved at a quick pace to Deep Run and encamped at the mill near the Junction of the Warrenton and Barnett's Ford roads, the Twenty-fourth advancing half a mile in support of the picket line. The men recognized the right-hand road as the one they marched down last fall from Warrenton to Fredericksburg. The face of the country robed in its summer dress appeared finer than the hard trodden barriers of Stafford Heights. At daylight on Saturday morning, June 13, the regiment marched on through Grove Church, halting an hour at "Cool Spring;" thence four miles to Morrisville; places with scarce half a dozen houses each. Few houses are required in Virginia for towns of high sounding names. They frequently have but one street, the road that passes through them. Moving on through Bealton Station, they halted for the night two miles beyond, at Liberty Church. Six o'clock Sunday morning, June 14, found the column again advancing, halting for a brief rest at Germantown, the birthplace of Chief Justice Marshall. This section bears the name of "Effingham Forest" after Lord Effingham of colonial times. Another march brought the regiment to Warrenton Junction at 2 P. M. where a halt. was made for "coffee," which favorite beverage being swallowed, a quick pace was taken through Catlett's to Kettle Run, within a mile. of Bristow Station. It was after dark, but only a brief halt was allowed for supper. Colonel Morrow informed the men that it was necessary to go forward still further that night, as it was a question of speed whether they or the enemy would first reach the Centerville Heights. All day the weather was hot and roads dusty, many falling out of the ranks exhausted and sinking to the ground. For three miles before. the halt for supper at Kettle Run, the men became frantic for water, as there was none save now and then in some mudhole or slimy frog marsh. Crossing Kettle Run after an hour's halt, by stepping from stone to stone in the darkness, and later in the night Broad Run also, in the glare of torches and bonfires on the bank, by an improvised bridge of rails, they marched all night and reached Manassas Junction just before sunrise on Monday morning, June 15. The night march was tedious, German Town Liberty Church 4. Bivoual June 15th 16, 63. 8. Cross Potomac June 25,» 5. marched on wrong road THE MARCH FOR GETTYSBURG. though but for the need of sleep not so exhausting as in the heat of day. The halt for breakfast was made on the very spot beside the Manassas railroad track where the rest of the Iron Brigade made their morning meal after retreating from the bloody field of Gainesville, August 29, 1862. They had remained on the field till midnight to bury their dead, but ere the task was done had to retire, and at sunrise halted on this spot. After a rest of four hours, the Iron Brigade passed on over the plains of Manassas, by the fortificatins and Beauregard's headquarters. Yonder earthworks command the wide plain sloping towards the heavy timber that fills the Bull Run valley. Dark and gloomy seem their depths and over tree tops can be seen the Heights of Centerville, six miles beyond, which form the outposts of the defenses of Washington, twenty-five miles away. Captain A. M. Edwards pointed out the little grove where, with 500 fellow prisoners, he passed the first night of his ten months' captivity in Dixie. The regiment entered the woods and halted for dinner at Blackburn's Ford sufficiently long for the men to take a needed bath in the waters of the now historic Bull Run. At this Ford occurred the first encounter of the war between the northern and southern troops. The Second and Third Michigan Infantry opened the contest. Crossing the Ford, the regiment proceeded to Centerville, where it arrived at 3 P. M., encamping southeast of the village, seventy-five miles from Falmouth. Here the men learned the exciting news of the invasion of Maryland and Pennsylvania by Lee's army. NORTHWARD MARCH TO PENNSYLVANIA LINE. After resting till daylight of Wednesday 17, the column marched towards Leesburg. The weather was terrible, but the men stood it well until obliged to retrace their steps a mile or two on the wrong road, when their spirits and power of endurance waned under this. depressing influence. They could march well through woods where not a breath of air stirred, or along fields under rays of a burning sun, but this useless marching greatly discouraged them, as an exhausting march is more dreaded than the deadly fight. The regiment went but little further that day, and crossing the Alexandria & Loudon Railroad. near Herndon, halted to rest in an open field amid springs of clear water, after a march of ten miles. Thursday, the 18th, was a day of rest. Copious showers of rain fell that night and the next day, the first rainfall for six weeks. At II o'clock on the 19th, the column moved four miles up the railroad |