“Taylor is all I can make out from here, as the board is a little obliqued from this point; but if it'll be any accommodation to you, I'll go down there and see what it is.” “I would be so thankful if you would.” The ward master went down the slope and to the grave in which I had come to be so deeply interested. I was confident, or thought I was, that nothing could have happened to Giles, but at the same time I could not rest until I found out the full name of the trooper who slumbered in that particular grave. In a few minutes the ward master returned. “It's Taylor,” he said. “Yes; but what's the other name?” “Giles Taylor.” “What regiment?” “First Massachusetts Cavalry.” “What company?” “Company I.” “What else?” “Killed, July 28, 1864.” “Where?” “Near Malvern Hill.” “Lay me down, please.” “All right, my boy; did you know the trooper buried out there?” “Yes; we ran away together to enlist. He nursed me in camp when I was stricken, and helped put me in the ambulance when I was sent to the hospital; he was my bunkey, and the best friend I had in the company.” “It's too bad; but war is a terrible thing.” The day that I started for the hospital Sheridan crossed to the north bank of the James, to support a movement intended to cause Lee to withdraw the bulk of his army from the works in front of Petersburg. There was some lively fighting out near Malvern Hill, and during one of the attacks of the enemy Taylor was shot. The bullet entered his groin, severing the main arteries. Daniel Booth, a bugler who was near Taylor when the latter was struck, assisted in getting the wounded man back out of range. Booth told me that Giles did not flinch--he was in the front rank when he was shot. He did not fall from his horse, but fired one or two shots after he was struck. Then he said to Booth: “I'm hit--the blood's running into my boot; guess I'm hurt bad.” Booth hastened to Taylor's assistance. The latter was growing weak from loss of blood. Just then Gen. Davies's headquarters ambulance came along, and the general who was near at hand and had seen Booth and another soldier supporting Taylor in the saddle, directed them to put him in the ambulance. “No; don't let them put me in the ambulance, it'll kill me if they lay me down. Let me stay in the saddle, boys.” Booth remained with Taylor till they reached the landing where the wounded men were being loaded on boats to be taken to City Point. A surgeon examined Taylor's wound. “It's fatal,” the doctor whispered to Booth. “But he can't stay here; help him on board the boat.” The boy bugler and others raised the dying trooper and bore him tenderly on board the steamer. They laid him down on a blanket among other wounded soldiers. Then the whistle blew, and the command was given, “All ashore that's going!” Taylor was sinking fast, but he pressed Booth's hand and said: