of the enemy. At this unexpected turn of affairs, with nothing but our six-shooters to hold back such odds (we did not have time to reload our guns), it did not take long to determine what to do. “Fall back to your horses,” was the order, and we fell. Mike and I were together. Partly on account of his old wound, but mostly, I think, on account of his contentious disposition under such circumstances, he was the poorest runner I ever saw—at least it impressed me so at the time—and when we reached our horse-holder he was mounted, the others all gone, and throwing the reins to us he followed in hot haste. I was in my saddle instantly; Mike was not so fortunate. His horse, a long, lank old bay, as thin as a fence rail, excited by the shooting, shouting, and running, was plunging viciously around in the brush dragging Mike, who was pawing the air with first one foot and then the other in fruitless efforts to catch the stirrup, at the same time keeping up a continuous string of comments upon the situation generally, interspersed with bits of advice to me and curses at his horse, such as: “Give’m a taste of your shooting, boy,” “Whoa, you d—d old brute of a baste,” “Look at the blue divils how they swarm,” “What a d—d fool old Weatherly was,” “Struck’m in the middle,” “Divil take the cavalry service,” “Whoa, you—” In the meantime the Federals, finding nothing in front of them, were coming on as fast as the nature of the ground would admit, firing at random, for the bushes were so thick they could not see ten feet ahead of them. Although expecting to show a clean pair of heels to the enemy, I had instinctively drawn a fresh pistol from my holster when I mounted, and according to Mike’s advice was using it to the best advantage I could, at the same time anxiously watching his circus performance with the old bay, and inwardly praying that it would come to a speedy close, or both of us would be either killed or captured, in a half minute more. I couldn’t leave him under the circumstances, for he had more than once stood between me and “the other shore,” in places equally as close, and to desert him now, would look like rank ingratitude and cowardice.