During the battle, a chaplain, provided with four men to look after
the wounded, came suddenly upon a group of twenty-four Rebels. An
imperative demand for their surrender was promptly complied with, and
the chaplain, with his force of four, brought twenty-four prisoners
into town. He was so delighted at his success that he subsequently
took a commission in the line. In time he was honored with the stars
of a brigadier-general.

General Lyon was my personal friend, but he very nearly did me great
injustice. Seeing myself and a fellow-journalist on a distant part
of the field, he mistook us for scouts of the enemy, and ordered
his sharp-shooters to pick us off. His chief-of-staff looked in our
direction, and fortunately recognized us in time to countermand the
order. I was afterward on the point of being shot at by an infantry
captain, through a similar mistake. A civilian's dress on the
battle-field (a gray coat formed a part of mine) subjects the wearer
to many dangers from his friends, as most war correspondents can
testify.

While approaching the town, I stopped to slake my thirst at a well. A
group of our soldiers joined me while I was drinking. I had drank
very freely from the bucket, and transferred it to a soldier, when
the resident of a neighboring house appeared, and informed us that
the well had been poisoned by the Rebels, and the water was certain to
produce death. The soldiers desisted, and looked at me with much pity.
For a moment, I confess, the situation did not appear cheerful, but
I concluded the injury, if any, was already done, and I must make the
best of it. The soldiers watched me as I mounted my horse, evidently
expecting me to fall within a hundred yards. When I met one of them
the following day, he opened his eyes in astonishment at seeing me