“WE have been detained a long time,” said Somers, when they reached the ravine through which it was necessary to pass on their return; for it was not likely that the rebel pickets would permit even the ubiquitous Major Riggleston to go over to the Yankees.

“Too long, too long,” replied the regular, rather nervously for him. “I am afraid we are too late to be of much service.”

“The general grinds up his information rapidly. If we see him before be commences the action, we shall be all right.”

Slowly and carefully they worked their way through the ravine, for they felt that they were treasure-houses of information, which must not be needlessly exposed to destruction; and a little hurrying not only imperilled their own lives, but endangered the good cause to which both of the scouts were devoted. With all the haste which the circumstances would permit, it was broad daylight when they emerged from the ravine within the Union lines.

They hurried to headquarters. Though no drums beat or bugles sounded, the note of preparation had passed silently along the lines. The orders of the general had been fully and carefully executed, and brigades and divisions were in column, ready for the advance. “Fighting Joe” and his staff were already in the saddle; and half a mile off, on a little eminence, Somers discovered the general on his white steed. Alick had groomed his horse and saddled him, though with many fears that his master would never return to use him again.

As Somers approached, the faithful fellow saw him, and led up the horse. He was overjoyed to see him once more, and made a beautiful exhibition of ivory on this interesting occasion. The young staff officer, nearly exhausted after the perils and labors of the night, filled his haversack with “hard tack,” and leaped into the saddle. There was not a moment to be lost, and he dashed away towards the spot where the general was busily employed in making his preparations for the attack.

The excitement of the moment enabled him to triumph over the bodily fatigue which had weighed him down, and he urged on the noble animal he rode to his utmost speed. The horse seemed to participate in the interest and excitement of the occasion, and galloped as though he was conscious of the importance of his master’s mission. As he approached the spot where the general and his staff stood, Somers reined in his steed, and nearly threw him back upon his haunches, when he raised his sword to give his commander the usual salute. It was a proud, a triumphant moment for him; and the gallant steed behaved as though it was his duty to make the utmost display as he introduced his rider to the general.

“Captain Somers!” exclaimed the general. “I gave you up this morning when I learned that you had not been heard from.”

“I have the honor to report that I have fully performed the duty entrusted to me,” replied Somers, employing rather more formality than usual in his address.

The scout gave his information, the most important parts of which were the fact that Stonewall Jackson’s troops were concentrated on a fortified line, and that General Lee had massed his entire force behind the crests of the hill, in readiness for the great battle, which was apparently to decide the fate of the nation.

Then commenced that greatest and most momentous battle of the series of engagements in Maryland, which checked the invasion, and drove the rebels from the north to the south side of the Potomac. It was a fearful strife, a most determined battle, fought with a bravery, on both sides, bordering upon desperation. The event was to involve a mighty issue—no less than the fate of a great nation; for the moral effect of a victory by the rebels on the soil of the North would be disastrous, if not fatal, to the loyal cause, while it would open to the half starved and impoverished Confederacy the vast storehouses of wealth of the free North.

Those who fought on that day, from the skilful generals, who directed the operations, to the humblest private, who cheerfully and zealously obeyed the orders of his superiors in the midst of the terrible carnage of the battle-field, understood and appreciated the issues of that day. The sons of the republic will gratefully remember them all, and none with a more lively sense of obligation than “Fighting Joe,” whose skill and judgment, no less than his heroic bravery, brought victory out of the stubborn fight entrusted to him, upon which, more than upon the operations of any other portion of the line, the fate of the day rested. He was face to face with Stonewall Jackson, the most vigorous and determined leader of the Confederacy, the pet of the rebels, and the hope of the commanding general of the invading hordes. He was pitted against this man, who was the executive of Lee’s brain, without whom Lee’s strategy lost its power.

The battle on the right was fought and won, but not till mighty sacrifices had been made of precious life. It was one of the most obstinate conflicts of the war; and for hours the issue swung back and forth, and it was doubtful upon which side it would rest. The first corps went forward and were driven back in places; divisions were reduced to brigades, and brigades to regiments, before the terrible fire of the rebels; and nothing but the indomitable will and the admirable skill of the general saved the day. Every weak point in the line was strengthened, every advantage was used, and every disadvantage counterbalanced, till a splendid triumph was achieved.

Stonewall Jackson was ably and prudently supported by General Lee; troops from other portions of the line were sent to this imperilled position, in a vain attempt to save the failing fortunes of the day. Fresh troops were from time to time hurled against the hard-pressed brigades of the first corps, which were forced back, but only to be again strengthened and urged on by the masterly genius of “Fighting Joe,” until all that had been lost was retrieved. Later in the day, when the attack was made by the left and centre, the rebel line had been weakened by the large drafts required to meet the waste on the right, and of course the resistance was correspondingly diminished. With less stubborn and skilful fighting than that done on the right, the assaults of Burnside on the left, and of French and Richardson in the centre, could hardly have been successful.

The noble and gallant Burnside won immortal honors on that terrific day. He fought against every disadvantage, which he bravely and skilfully overcame. The result of the battle was less decisive than had been hoped and expected from the splendid fighting and the brilliant partial results achieved. The rebel army was severely handled; its resources and its prestige tremendously reduced; and the object of the campaign was actually accomplished; but whether the results of the several successful operations on the field were prudently agglomerated, whether the greatest practicable use was made of the victory, we must leave the historian to decide.

While Captain Somers was making his report, Captain Barkwood arrived, and was congratulated upon his safety and success. As an engineer he gave his opinion, and was able to supply information which Somers had not the scientific skill to deduce from what he had seen. The order was given to advance. The eye of the general was everywhere, even while his mind was occupied with the details furnished by the scouts. He sent members of his staff in every direction. He held the vast and complicated mechanism of his corps at his fingers’ ends. He knew where every brigade and every battery of his force was at that moment, and where it was to be an hour hence. He moved them all about, as a skilful weaver tosses the many shuttles, each with a different colored thread, through the fabric before him. He was weaving history on a gigantic scale.

Somers sat upon his restless horse, eating the “hard tack” he had brought, but ready to dash away upon any mission on which he might be sent, when an aid from the general commanding rode up and delivered an order to the commander of the corps. Somers did not particularly notice him at first, but as the staff officer turned, his teeth suddenly suspended their useful and interesting occupation, leaving his mouth half open, where it remained in the condition to express the wonder and astonishment which the presence of the officer excited.

“Major Riggleston!” exclaimed he, almost choking himself with the unmasticated block of “hard tack” in his mouth.

“Captain Somers, good morning,” replied the major, with a pleasant and friendly smile.

“Is it possible?” stammered Somers.

“What possible?” demanded Riggleston.

“That you are here,” replied the bewildered Somers, gazing at the major attentively, and surveying him from head to foot.

It was the same new and bright uniform which the major had worn when they met on previous occasions on the road; it was not the same which he had worn in the rebel lines, or at the Hasbrouk mansion; but the face was the same, the whiskers and mustache were the same in cut and color; and Somers, in spite of the doubt which at first assailed him, was even now ready to make oath that he was the same man he had shot in the head the preceding evening.

“Why shouldn’t I be here, my dear fellow?” laughed the major. “We are going to have hot work about here to-day.”

“How is your head, major?” demanded Somers, who could think of nothing at this moment but the amazing fact that he again stood in the presence of Major Riggleston.

“Cool and clear, I hope,” replied the major.

“How is your wound?”

“What wound?”

“Didn’t you receive a wound in the head last evening?”

“Upon my word I did not, that I am aware of.”

“Will you excuse me, Major Riggleston, if I ask you to remove your hat for a moment?” said Somers, as he moved his horse up to the side of the major’s.

“Certainly; with pleasure,” replied the staff officer, as he took off his hat.

There was no bandage, nor any appearance of a wound. Somers was more bewildered than ever, and was disposed to do what heroes in the romances do when anything looks astonishingly mysterious—ascribe the delusion to a dream. But he was tired enough from the exertions of the night to convince him that all which had occurred within the rebel lines was a reality.

“Will you allow me to examine your head?” asked he, utterly unable to see through the dark problem.

“I will do even that with pleasure, Captain Somers; though I think you are a little beside yourself,” laughed the major.

Somers reached forward, and put his hand on the part of the major’s head where the pistol ball had struck him; but there was not the slightest abrasion of the skin; in a word, the head was in good order and condition, and it was absolutely certain that no bullet had passed through his skull.

“I am satisfied, Major Riggleston,” replied Somers, though he was still in a bewildered state of mind. “I owe you an apology for the rude treatment to which I subjected you on a former occasion. You are not the man I took you to be; and I hope you will pardon my rough speech and unfriendly manners.”

“Cheerfully, Captain Somers. Here is my hand,” replied the major, evidently as much pleased to forgive as the scout was to be forgiven.

“I am satisfied now.”

“But I am not,” responded the major.

“Last night, about eleven o’clock, I shot you through the head,” said Somers, facetiously.

“Me!”

“Yes, you!”

“Well, perhaps you did; but I did not feel it.”

“I was willing, a moment ago, to give my affidavit that you were the person. I was mistaken this time, as I was yesterday when I accused you of being a traitor. By the way, Major Riggleston,” added Somers, as he took from his pocket the two passes he had received from the mysterious personage in the ravine, and selecting the Union one, handed it to his companion, “is this document yours?”

“It is,” replied the major, glancing at the pass. “Where did you get this?”

“Is this yours?” continued Somers, handing him the other pass.

“No; this is a rebel pass,” answered the major. “I never saw it before, and have no occasion for a paper of this description. Where did you get the other?”

“You gave it to me last night,” laughed Somers.

“I’m sure I did not.”

“Captain Somers,” called the general; and the interview was abruptly terminated.