When Wilson’s raiders reached Charlotte County, Virginia, preparations were made by the Home Guards, aided by a few veterans who happened to be home on furlough, to check their further progress.  Breastworks were thrown up on the south side of Stanton River, the railroad bridge was blockaded, and a gun placed in position to defend the passage.  Colonel Coleman, who was at home on furlough, gave it as his opinion that these precautions must be supplemented and supported by rifle-pits on the north side, or no successful defence could be made.  The pits were hastily dug, but, when volunteers were called for, the extreme danger prevented a hearty response.  None appeared except a few old soldiers and six or seven school-boys, whose ages ranged from fourteen to sixteen.  The Yankees advanced in line, in an open plain, about two thousand strong.  A rapid fire was opened from the rifle-pits and from the gun on the railroad bridge.

After a few minutes the enemy retired, reformed, and came on again, but were again routed as before.  Although the boys held a place where many a veteran would have quailed, they stood their ground nobly, and did a soldier’s duty.

After the fight was over, two of them had a quarrel regarding a Federal officer whom both shot at and both claimed to have killed.

These were Virginia boys, the sons of veterans, and attending a local school.

The raid came to grief soon after, being routed by Fitz-Hugh Lee.

Thomas Hilton, of Uniontown, Alabama, volunteered in the “Witherspoon Guards,” Twenty-first Alabama Regiment, at the tender age of fourteen.  He was too small to carry a musket, and was detailed as a drummer boy.  At the battle of Shiloh he threw away his drum and so importuned his captain for a gun that it was given him.

Shortly after, while in the thick of the fight, he was shot through the face, the ball entering one side and passing out at the other.

Rev. N.I.  Witherspoon (chaplain of the regiment) found him lying upon the ground, bleeding to death as he then supposed, and knelt beside him to pray.  To his surprise the boy looked up, the fire in his eyes unquenched, and gasped out while the blood gushed afresh at every word,—­

“Yes—­chaplain—­I’m—­badly hurt—­but—­I’m—­not—­whipped.”

Thomas Hilton still lives in Uniontown, Alabama, respected by all who know him.  His fellow-citizens regard the ugly scar which still appears upon his face with pride and reverence.

The battle of Mansfield, Louisiana, was one of the most hotly-contested and bloody of the war, the loss in men and officers being terrific.  The tide of battle rolled on, through lofty pine forests, amid tangled undergrowth, and over open fields, where the soldiers were exposed a to storm of shot and shell, and where, on that beautiful Sunday morning, hundreds of the dead and dying strewed the ground.  While the battle was at its height it became necessary, in