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Richmond, who ordered the instant release of Lieutenant Paine, without even parole, promise or condition, and, we presume, with the compliments of the Confederacy, and he arrived soon aster in Washington.

This act of generosity, as well as justice, must command our highest admiration. There is some hope for men who can behave in such a manner. But the strangest part of the story is yet to come. Lieutenant Paine, on arriving in Washington, learned that the officer, whose life he had thus gallantly saved, had since been taken prisoner by our forces, had just and been confined in the Old Capitol prison. The last we heard of him he was on his way to General Martindale's headquarters to obtain a pass to visit his beneficiary and benefactor.

Such are the vicissitudes of war. We could not help thinking, when we heard this story, of the profound observation of Mrs. Gump: “Sich is life, vich likewise is the hend of hall things hearthly.” We leave it to casuists to determine whether, when these two gallant soldiers meet on the battle-field, they should fight like enemies, or embrace like Christians? For our part, we do not believe that their swords will be any the less sharp, nor their zeal any the less determined, for this haphazard exchange of soldierly courtesy.



WHILE General McClellan commanded our army in Western Virginia, a stout male “contraband” suddenly


disappeared from his master in an inexplicable manner. He was afterward discovered harmlessly pursuing the avocation of cook in the camp of the 19th Ohio.

Sambo was suddenly confronted with his master, in the General's presence.

Quoth our legal military friend, Lieutenant-Colonel Key, “ What's your name, boy?”

Pompey Johnson, sah,” replied Sambo.
“Where are you from?” continued the Colonel.

“Johnsontown, Cumb’land County, State ob Ohio," said the negro, with sublime audacity,

“Do you know that man?” asked the Colonel, designating Sambo's master.

The darkey eyed his master, coolly, from head to foot, as if he was preparing to swear to his inches, and, without winking, responded

“No, sah-dun' 'no him; neber seed him aforestranga to me, sah."

Why, you rascal,” interposed his master, “I raised you-bought you when you were nine years old ; every body in town knows you're my nigger."

“Dun’ 'no you, sah! Stranga to me, sah! I'se free cullud pussun, sah! Cum from 'hio, sah, wid the sogers."

The neighbors identified Pompey as the claimant's chattel, and he was remanded to servitude, when he suddenly regained his consciousness, and retired obediently. He had been captured from his master, a Secessionist, by some of the lads of the 19th Ohio, who desired him for a cook, and had instructed him to play the part he assumed. The darkey, however, mistook the name of the county he was to hail from, substituting Cumberland for Trumbull.

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The affair commonly known as the “Battle of Ches naburg," which occurred in the Kanawha campaign of 1861, is deserving of a place in our war history. General Cox's division had been moving from place to place, and finally encamped in the vicinity of Spiral Knob. No enemy in force had for some time appeared and the army was eager for a fight.

One evening a celebrated scout from a neighboring State went out, and had proceeded about seven miles, when he came upon the pickets of the enemy. Crawling up to the encampment, he alarmed the sentinels, who gave chase, but finally eluding them, he returned to camp with the joyful tidings that several thousand Secessionists were encamped in a cornfield, about seven miles off.

Upon receipt of the news, the countenances of the officers and men beamed with delight at the prospect of a fight. It was at once decided that the Secesh should be attacked the same night, and the colonel of the regiment to which the scout belonged claimed the honor of leading the attack, as one of his men had discovered the enemy.

That evening, at dress parade, the order was read to the attacking force to march at a certain hour. The gallant colonel, not wishing that any should be forced to fight who were disinclined, and that he should not be embarrassed by any cowardly spirits, addressed his men, telling them that all such as were afraid could

remain behind. The men were worked up to a good fighting pitch, and when the hour for marching came, all were found in their places,

The regiment moved off, each man determined to win or die, and was followed by a supporting force, at a proper distance. Silently, they marched for several miles, with the determined tread of men who were resolved on victory or an honorable death. The road was rugged and crooked, winding around mountains and through ravines, as only mountain roads can.

When near the camp of the vile Secesh, General M., who had command of the whole forc3, rode to the front and engaged in conversation with the colonel commanding the advance. Having attained the summit of a mountain ridge, which gave a view of the opposite hills, they soon espied the pickets of the enemy. The lines were formed and everything put in readiness for a charge, when General M., raising himself in his stirrups, exclaimed: “Why, Colonel, those are my pickets ! and, by golly, that is my camp!"

The effect of this announcement may be better imagined than described. Just think of two or three thousand men being roused from their slumbers at midnight, marched seven miles over one of the worst roads in creation, and then being brought up before their own camp!

The matter was finally explained. The road they had followed ran in an easterly or southeasterly direction from the camp, then winding round among the moun. tains, ran directly west, and came out into the road at the south end of the encampment. The scout had also followed the same road, and came very near being caught by his own friends, in his own camp.

This ludicrous affair has been appropriately christened, and will hereafter be known, in the Cheat Mountain region, as the Battle of Chesnaburg.




The expedition for the capture of New Orleans, under Major-General Benjamin F. Butler of the land forces, and Flag Officer Farragut of the naval forces, and Captain D. D. Porter of the mortar flotilla, being in the lower Mississippi, on the morning of the 17th of April, 1862, passed up and anchored on the west shore. The advance vessels were about a mile below a chain barrier, which the enemy had stretched across the river on hulks, but which proved not very difficult of removal.

The purpose of the Commodore was to bombard the forts, Jackson and St. Philips, from about half a mile above our position, the forts being distinctly visible from our mast heads.

The hulls of the mortar boats were screened by woods, and the masts were disguised with evergreens, a precaution adopted by the sailors, so that from the forts they were scarcely distinguishable from the trees.

Fire rafts were sent down by the rebels, designed to destroy our fleet, but were prevented by the precautionary measures of Captain Porter.

Failing to reduce the forts after six days of incessant

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