At four he returned at a break-neck speed, and, leaping from his horse, said, “Now is your time. The enemy is already breaking over the hills; try the train. It will go through, unless they have flanked, and cut the bridge a mile above us. In that case I’ve a reserve horse for you, and you must take your chances to escape across the country.” In two minutes I was on the train. The last wounded man at the station was also on. The conductor stood with a torch which he applied to a pile of combustible material beside the track. And we rounded the curve which took us from view and we saw the station ablaze, and a troop of cavalry dashing down the hill. The bridge was uncut and midnight found us at Washington. You have the full record of my sleep--from Friday night till Wednesday morning--two hours. You will not wonder that I slept during the next twenty-four. On Friday (the following), I repaired to Armory Square Hospital to learn who, of all the hundreds sent, had reached that point. I traced the chaplain’s record, and there upon the last page freshly written stood the name of Hugh Johnson Turning to Chaplain Jackson, I asked--“Did that man live until to-day?” “He died during the latter part of last night,” he replied. “His friends reached him some two days ago, and they are now taking his body from the ward to be conveyed to the depot.” I looked in the direction his hand indicated, and there, beside a coffin, about to be lifted into a wagon, stood a gentleman, the mother, and Sister Mary! “Had he his reason?” I asked. “Oh, perfectly.” “And his mother and sister were with him two days.” “Yes.” There was no need of me. He had given his own messages; I could add nothing to their knowledge of him, and would fain be spared the scene of thanks. Poor Hugh, thy piteous prayers reached and were answered, and with eyes and heart full, I turned away, and never saw Sister Mary. These were days of darkness--a darkness that might be felt. The shattered bands of Pope and Banks! Burnside’s weary legions! Reënforcements from West Virginia--and all that now remained of the once glorious Army of the Peninsula had gathered for shelter beneath the redoubts and guns that girdled Washington. How the soldiers remembered these ministrations is shown in letters such as this: CHARLES E. SIMMONS, Secretary, 21st Regt. Mass. Vol. CHARLES E. FRYE, President 7 JAQUES AVENUE, WORCESTER, MASS. September 13th, 1911 TO CLARA BARTON