Early this morning the command is up and ready to move forward. While waiting to hear the bugle call, Sergeant Flint, with his mind ever ready, pens the following:
My girth is tight, my stirrup strong,My steed is staunch and free;
I wait to hear the bugle clear,
To mount my saddle tree.
No soul to say a last God-speed,
I give no fond adieu;
But only this, my good-bye kiss,
My lady sweet, to you.
The saddle and the forest camp
Are now my home once more;
And hearts that long were soft grow strong,
The bivouac fire before,
And if my breast in some wild charge
Should meet the deadly ball,
My mates will spread my soldier bed,
And lay me where I fall.
My blood will be my epitaph,
That marks my jacket blue;
Read it with pride-He lived, he died,
For country, home and you.
The bugle now blows and we move forward on the road leading to Henderson. We pass through Henderson about noon; find all quiet; rebels all gone; just left, so the citizens tell us. How singular it is that they vanish so soon. After leaving Henderson we take the road leading towards Mifflen, and when about four miles from Henderson our advance comes upon a squad of five rebels at a Union man's house, in the act of enforcing the conscription act. We succeed in capturing two of them, the remaining three making their escape to the brush. In the evening we go into camp at Mifflen, a noted guerrilla resort, but upon our advance none were found. Perhaps they have hid their guns and are now playing the peaceful citizen. The camp fires are soon burning brightly; the porkers are now making their last earthly appeal. We eat our supper and lie down to rest. About ten o'clock, bang! bang! go the muskets on the picket line. The bugle is sounded, and in two minutes the Seventh is ready for a fray; but no farther fray; it is all over with now. A squad of Newsom's cowardly band crawled up and fired upon the pickets. One soldier, Sergeant Pickott, of Company G, was killed. Not being on duty at the time, and being a religious young man, he leaves his comrades and goes away a short distance to engage in secret prayer, and while the christian soldier was there kneeling, one of these marauding, uncivilized guerrillas, taking advantage of his advanced position, fired upon him, dealing a mortal wound from which he died in two hours, leaving the freed spirit to take its flight home to God.
Now his spirit has departed,And from eyes unused to weeping
Fall the bitter tears unheeded,
For another gallant soldier
Off the picket guard forever.
* Misdated as Monday, September 29, 1863. September 29th fell on a Tuesday.
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