A singularly lithe young fellow from one of the Northern regiments met and slew, in the open field, one of our officers. Thereupon Jack turned to his captain and said: “If I have your leave, captain, I’d like to try conclusions with that young fellow myself. He seems to know how to handle sharp steel.” The captain nodded assent, and Jack put spurs to his horse. The two men met in midfield. They crossed swords as a couple of gladiators might, while a thousand eyes watched anxiously for the result. It was manifestly to be a contest of experts, a battle of the giants, for both men were above the average in height and weight, and both knew every trick of the sabre. Their swords drew fire from each other’s edge at the first onset. Then they paused strangely and looked at each other. Then Jack deliberately threw his sabre upon the ground and uncovered his head. His adversary could have run him through on the instant, but the action of Jack seemed to give him pause. He stopped with his sword poised at the tierce thrust. He leant forward eagerly and gazed into the calm eyes of the Confederate. Then he, too, abandoning his purpose, threw his weapon to the ground. We were all eagerness and curiosity; and neither our eagerness nor our curiosity was relieved when the two men grasped each other’s hand, swung their horses around, and each returned unarmed to his own line. When Jack rode up he had just six words of explanation to make. “That man,” he said, “is my twin brother.” That seemed to be all there was to say. “Blood is thicker than water.” A FAMILY THAT HAD NO LUCK There were two instances of supreme heroism in the Civil War. One was upon the one side, the other upon the other. One was the charge of Pickett’s Southerners at Gettysburg. The other was the heroic series of assaults, made by the Northern troops on Marye’s Heights, at Fredericksburg. General Lee’s works in the last-named battle were high up on the hill. Crossing the field in front of them was a sunken road--a perfect breastwork already formed. The main body of the army was in the works above; but a multitude of us were thrown forward into the sunken road. The enemy knew nothing of this geographical peculiarity. But their first advance revealed the impossibility of breaking Lee’s lines at that point. The column that advanced was swept away as with a broom before it got within firing distance of the works it supposed itself to be attacking. The men knew what that meant. Wiser than their general, they saw the necessity of selecting some other point of attack. Nevertheless when their commander persisted, they six times came unflinchingly to an assault which every man of them knew to be hopeless. This may not have been war, but it was heroism. We who faced them there honored it as such.