CHAPTER XVII. RALPH RE-ENLISTS.

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NCE again our hero was in Chicago. The city had put on its spring dress, and well was it named the Garden City, for the streets at that time were nearly all bordered with trees, and their green foliage gave it, at a little distance, the appearance a wooded plain, for the city is built on level ground—indeed, it was once a swamp, and it has cost the labor of years and an outlay of millions of dollars to reclaim it from its original state, and fill in and grade and elevate its highways.

The terrible battle of Chancellorsville had been fought, under General Hooker (“Fighting Joe,” as the soldiers loved to call him), and a victory had resulted for the Union army. The news electrified the North, and great results were predicted. General Hooker had been given the command after the utter failure of General Burnside at Fredericksburg, and his soldiers were ready to follow him to the death, for he was intrepid and fearless. This memorable engagement had been fought with Hooker on the Federal forces, and Stonewall Jackson, the brave Confederate leader on the Confederate side. He was General Lee's right hand man, the ablest and best Lieutenant he ever had. Close upon this victory came the news that General Jackson had been shot by his own men. When the shades of evening began to fall, he rode to the front to see what could be learned of the movements of the Federals, and as he rode back to his own lines, surrounded by his staff, some of his own followers, watchful and faithful to their duty, not recognizing him in the dim twilight, but mistaking the mounted men for cavalry belonging to the Union side, fired a volley at them, killing several of the horsemen, and wounding others. This was, of course, supposed to be an attack from some of the Union soldiers, and to them was imputed the firing. The Confederate loss in the day's encounter had been severe, and they smarted at their defeat, They had been met by such a storm of grape and canister as no mortal power could withstand. The charge of Major Peter Keenan, which had been ordered by General Pleasanton, had been so brilliant that it had surprised the Confederates, who could not believe that Keenan, with four hundred men, would dare oppose ten thousand of their infantry, and they concluded that tremendous numbers must be behind them. The Major, with his little band, was slain, but his charge stopped the onset of the Confederates.

The stories of individual bravery which are furnished by the annals of the conflict, are alone enough to fill a volume, but will probably never be written. The heroic Major knew that he was inviting death, but he never faltered. Indeed, his own words were to that effect, for he said to his officers, “It is the same as saying we must be killed, but we'll do it.” And his words proved prophetic, for he fell, and but few came out of that engagement alive.

The twilight was falling, veiling every object in its uncertain light, the trees cast their dark shadows over the path which General Jackson had chosen. As his men, ever watchful, saw the result of their first volley, they became exultant at their success, and again they loaded their guns, discharging them at the form of the leader of the approaching party, who had thus singularly fallen into their hands. They knew that they had wounded an officer, and as he fell from his seat, they rushed forward to learn his rank and name, if possible. Alas, to their consternation, they discovered that their beloved commander, General Jackson, had received three wounds. His steed, mad with fright, plunged wildly forward, and dashed into the depths of the thicket, tossing him against the limbs of the trees in his path, and bruising him most severely.