“Silent was now by a small fire, which was sputtering and spitting, the rain coming down in uncomfortable quantities. Hanscom had taken and was now holding the center of their line. He reported: 'Have just finished up Jones and am going into Ewelling; many prisoners and guns.'
“The enemy made six assaults on Hanscom, which were repulsed. Broomfield now reported that he had lost connection with Hanscom. Silent wrote him: 'Push the enemy; that is the best way to make connection.'
“Desultory fighting continued until midnight, when the enemy gave up the task of re-taking their lost line and retreated. Thus ended the eighth day of marching and most desperate fighting ever known.
“The next morning an assault was made in order to take possession of high ground near the court-house, which was a success, without any considerable resistance. The rain was now falling in torrents. The roads became so muddy that they were impassable, which prevented any further movement for the present. The collecting of the wounded and burying the dead was a sight to behold. The whole country back for miles was one continuous hospital. Our losses were over 20,000, and no one could ever ascertain the loss of the enemy; but it could not have been less than 30,000—including prisoners.
“The howl that was set up by the Sons of Liberty and Copperheads excelled anything that had ever been heard. Silent was a 'murderer,' a 'butcher,' a 'brute,' an 'inhuman monster.' The enemy, however, were all right. They were 'humane friends,' 'good Christians,' etc. The hypocrisy of this world is perfectly amazing.
“At this time take a glance at the rebel capital. Boutler was within ten miles; Sherlin's troopers were, many of them, inside the works on the north side of Richmond. Sherwood was forcing the rebel Army of the Center. Gen. Crookerhad cut all railroads between Tennessee and Richmond. All lines of communication with Richmond were severed, and confusion and terror reigned in the rebel capital. Jeff Davis contemplated flight, but was prevented by those surrounding him. With all these evidences of our final success and failure on their part, the anti-war party in the North could find no words of contumely too severe for our successful commanders.
“Henry and I left for Washington, and in the confusion of everything I finally found a surgeon by the name of Bliss, who informed me where I could find my son Jackson. He had been brought to Washington and placed in the Stone Mansion Hospital, on Meridian Hill. We lost no time in visiting that place, and by permission of the surgeon in charge visited Jackson. We found him with a high fever and some evidence of erysipelas. His wound was in the right groin—a very dangerous wound. He talked quite freely, and gave all kinds of messages for his mother, the family, and Gen. Anderson, but said to us that he could live but a few days.
“'The fates are against our family,' said he. 'We will all go down sooner or later. Mother is right.'
“We remained in Washington and gave Jackson all the attention we could. We merely paid our respects to the President. He was so busy we could not interrupt him. Joy was in the hearts of all loyal people, while curses were upon the lips of every disloyal and anti-war Democrat in the whole country.
“Jackson died from erysipelas on the sixth day after our arrival. This shock almost broke me down. Henry was nearly frantic. Jackson was his favorite brother. They had both been wanderers alike from home. We took his remains to our home, had his funeral services in the church to which his mother and I belonged, and buried him by the side of my son David, in the Allentown Cemetery.