As he was borne off on the litter, he sent word to me that he “hoped I hadn’t any bets on that bear story.” A CHEERFUL SUPPER OF CHEERS As Commissary it was Haskell’s business to see to it that we had plenty to eat; but the seven days’ fights below Richmond were on, and Haskell was, first of all, a fighter,--a thing uncommon in Commissaries and Quartermasters. Instead of attending to his pork and meal wagons in the rear, he went to the front. There he was active in a degree that commanded the respect of his general. He interested himself so much in the movements of troops, and in the controversy with the enemy, that he forgot all about the wagons. In this service he had his right arm shot off by a cannon-ball. When night came, and we wanted something to eat, there was a good deal of growling because we had nothing. But when the story was told of how our Commissary had fought, and how he had lost an arm in the fighting, a fellow with more humor than appetite got up and cried: “I move that we sup on three cheers and a tiger for the Commissary that fights.” The three cheers were given. As soon as his wound was healed, Haskell was made a major and placed in command of the battalion. There may have been many better Commissaries than Haskell, but there were no better fighting majors. HOW THE TAR HEELS STUCK The sergeant-major sat there on his horse in the drenching rain. There was nothing to do but to endure. The three days of fighting in the Wilderness in that early summer of 1864, and the three nights of sleeplessness had considerably undone his nerves. But for the first time in his life he realized that he had a hope at least for an opportunity. He had a lieutenant’s command. He hoped for a chance to make himself a lieutenant, in fact. With two guns, twenty-six men, and twenty-four horses under his command, and wholly detached from his battery, he had hope, that gray foggy morning, that he might have an opportunity. Yet here he was, standing behind a hill, soaking wet, and with no apparent prospect. Three times the infantry had been ordered forward to the top of that hill. Three times they had been swept away as with a broom. The hill was clearly untenable. Then came General Alexander. “Have you nerve, courage, backbone? Do you want an opportunity?” The sergeant-major answered, “Yes.” “Then take your guns to the top of that hill and STAY THERE.” The sergeant-major gave the necessary orders, and advanced at once, feeling that he and his men were lambs sent to the slaughter. When he appeared on top of the hill, twenty batteries and ten thousand riflemen opened upon him. But his orders were to “stay there,” and the sergeant-major wanted to be a lieutenant. His horse sank under him at the first fire. His men went down like grass before the scythe. But he STAYED THERE.