"
And looking over his shoulder, in the direction of Five Forks, he
murmured:--
"This is a good place to die, too."
A thundering cheer rose suddenly above the roar of the guns, and the
line of dismounted sharp-shooters behind their rail breastworks opened
a more steady and resolute fire as the enemy appeared to pause.
At the same moment young Preston Hampton, a son of the general, and one
of my favorites, from his courage and courtesy, passed by at a gallop,
cheering and encouraging the skirmishers.
I spurred after him. Just as I reached him, I saw the arm waving above
his head suddenly drop; his sword escaped from his grasp, and he fell
from the saddle to the ground.
In an instant I had dismounted, and with other officers who hastened
up, had raised him from the earth.
As we did so, the group, consisting now of no less than seven,
attracted the enemy's attention; a hot fire was opened on us, and
before we could bear the dying youth in our arms beyond the reach of
the fire, four out of the seven officers were shot.[1]
[Footnote 1: Fact]
The boy was placed in an ambulance, and borne to the rear; but the
wound was fatal, and he soon afterward expired. A staff officer
afterward informed me that General Hampton did not leave his tent for a
fortnight--scarcely replying when he was spoken to, and prostrated by
grief.
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