“The centre held their ground at last, and all was still, Part of the night was employed in hunting the dead and wounded. Many were wounded and frozen to death, being left on the ground during the night. The suffering in front of Dolinsburg was something almost indescribable—it snowed, sleeted, hailed and froze during the whole of the night. The troops did not sleep, nor did they attempt it; they had to form into squads and walk around trees all night. No fires could be lighted—they were so close to the enemy's entrenchments. Just at daylight the sharp sound of their skirmishers was heard. They had concluded to move out on our right and attack us on our flank, and open the way for the escape of their army. On they came. Our line was soon formed and our musketry opened. During the night one of our batteries had been brought up and given position on a slight elevation to the right of Col. Anderson's centre. The enemy opened furiously on our line, and in a few minutes our battery was knocked to pieces and was charged by infantry. Here there was a bloody conflict; men fell by the score; the snow was reddened by the blood of both patriots and traitors. The smoke seemed to hover around the trees and underbrush, as if to conceal the contending forces from each other. The flame of musketry and the red glare of the cannons lighted up the scene with a lurid tint. Limbs fell from the trees, and the ground was mown as smoothly of weeds and underbrush as if by a scythe. Our right was under orders to hold their position at all hazards. The battle, dreadful and bloody, continued. By degrees the troops on the right of Col. Anderson gave way and abandoned the field. At noon but one regiment besides Col. Anderson's withstood the enemy on the right of our line. They were terribly cut up, and having no food, were nearly exhausted. Their ammunition was growing scarce, none having been brought up to this point for their supply. In this condition they stood like a wall, under the most galling fire of artillery and musketry, their comrades falling like grass before the sickle. At length the enemy's cavalry appeared in the rear; not in line, but as if observing the battle with a view of taking advantage at the proper time of any mishap that might occur in our lines. Col. Anderson seeing this, and feeling that his command was now in great peril, conceived the idea of a bayonet charge on the line to his front, and so ordered it.
“His line moved forward, in a double-quick, and with a shout drove the enemy, who was stampeded by the impetuous assault. The Colonel, being on foot, led his men right up to the works, the enemy having been driven inside. As he leaped forward to them, with sword in hand, calling to his men, 'Come on, my boys,' he fell, as they then thought, mortally wounded. The enemy seeing this made a fresh assault, and drove our force back. Col. Anderson was left on the field supposed to be dead. The battle raged all along the line. Our right was driven and forced under the brow of a hill. While under this partial shelter a portion of the enemy made their escape through this unoccupied part of the field. At this time our left made a successful assault upon the works of the enemy, capturing their outer line and forcing them into their more contracted lines but more strongly fortified. The centre had made several ineffectual assaults and had lost in killed and wounded very heavily. Re-enforcements came to the right, and a renewal of the assault all along the line was ordered. To the work of blood and death the men again came forward with a heroic will, and for about an hour the battle was like the long roll on a thousand drums. The air was filled with shells; the heavens were lighted up as if meteors were flying in all directions; the rumbling of artillery was heard as batteries changed position, and the loud commands of excited officers. On and on moved the serried masses. As the lines opened by the dropping of the dead and wounded, 'close up, boys,' could be heard. It was now about dusk. One grand charge all along the line, one grand shout, 'up with the flag, boys!'—all was over, the fortress was ours, and the Stars and Stripes floated over Dolinsburg. That night, however, was a night of gloom and sorrow in our army. Gen. McGovern was killed in the last assault. Gen. Smote was badly wounded and died a few days later. Gen. Waterberry, a brave and gallant officer, fell a few weeks later at the battle of Pittskuk.”
“I remember when Waterberry fell, poor fellow,” said Col. Bush.
“Yes, many a poor fellow lost his life in those two battles. We captured a great number of prisoners. Gen. Bertram surrendered. Many of his leading officers were killed and wounded, and some made their escape through the opening in our line on the right, where Col. Anderson fell wounded.”
Dr. Adams asked: “Uncle Daniel, did you ever hear of him? Was his body found?”
“Yes, Doctor, and the story of that and his recovery is a very singular one. Peter searched diligently for him, but failed to find him; this distressed him so much that he decided to ask for a leave and return home, so as to stay a short time with the family and do what he could to help us bear the sorrow of the Colonel's supposed death. After our grief-stricken family could have the patience to listen to his recitals, he gave us the story just as I have told it. Mrs. Anderson, although stricken down with grief, insisted that her husband was not killed, or he would have been found among the slain; that a man of such marked features would have been noticed by some one who did the interring. The Captain insisted that there could be no doubt but that he was killed. Time passed on, but little Mary would continually ask, 'If her papa was dead?' 'Was he shot?' Who had killed him?' and a thousand other questions which constantly kept her mother thinking of the Colonel's fate, and soon she determined to go in search of him. Peter was leaving for his regiment, now under command of Colonel Rice. Col. Anderson having been reported as killed, Rice had been promoted Colonel, and the regiment had moved with the army in a southwesterly direction some considerable distance from Dolinsburg. Still there had been troops left there, so that it was perfectly safe to visit the battle-field, there being no rebel force in that part of the country at that time. I agreed to go with her, and made all the arrangements necessary for the family; the farm of Col. David having been looked after, and our family-school reorganized under Jennie, which had become demoralized by the news of Col. Anderson's death. In the meantime we had heard from Col. David and James, who were well, and also had letters from Stephen and Henry; both had joined the army: Stephen in an infantry regiment from Ohio, where he lived, and Henry in a cavalry regiment from Michigan, where he had been employed for a time in surveying for a company; so at this time I had one son left not yet in the army, he being my third son, Jackson, who was then engaged in railroading in Minnesota. We had not heard from him for some time, and his mother was sorely troubled, expecting soon to hear of the last of the Lyons being in the army. This, she thought, was a little more than ought to be required of any one family.”
“So say I, Uncle Daniel,” spoke up several of the listeners.
“True, true; but our country's demands should be satisfied by her citizens, no matter what they may be. Well, when all was arranged, Mary Anderson and I started. We went as far as we could by cars and boat, and then obtained horses and traveled on horseback to Dolinsburg. Coming to the pickets we were halted, and, on telling our errand and where we were from, we were taken to the headquarters of Col. Harden, who was in command of the post. We were well received and most hospitably treated by himself and officers. They all sympathized with Mrs. Anderson; knew of the Colonel's gallant conduct in battle, but all thought there was no use of a search for him; that he was certainly killed in charging the works near the fort. They showed us where he made the assault. After resting for the night we started on our search, Capt. Day accompanying us as guide and protector. We first went to the place where the Colonel fell, but there was nothing but long trenches, where the dead had been buried. We passed over the battle-field, which was mowed down smoothly by bullets. Limbs of trees had fallen in confusion, furrows were plowed in the ground by shell, horses' skeletons, broken muskets, pieces of wagons, parts of caissons, spokes, ammunition boxes, pieces of blankets, coats, pantaloons, parts of tents—everything in pieces, the evidences of a great contest were marked at every step. Late in the afternoon, worn out with walking and the excitement, we returned, very much disheartened. We dined on soldier's fare, which seemed to us delicious. After discussing the battle and the probabilities of the result of the war until a late hour, we retired to the camp cots for a night's rest. Next morning we got ready for a start. Mary Anderson inquired of Col. Harden which way the rebels who got through our lines had retreated. He answered her that they retreated on a road along the river up stream some twenty-five miles, and then crossed on a boat that had come down the river on its way to Dolinsburg, which was stopped by the retreating rebels. Mary said: