company and those adjoining it to fire by rank and by command, as in ordinary manual drill, the only instance of such an event, in my knowledge, during the war. I gave the words of command at request of Colonel Goodgame, and confess I took much pleasure in it. While we were engaged burying our dead comrades under a large tree, near where they fell, General Early and staff rode by, and the old hero spoke to us gently, and kindly suggested that we "dig the graves deep enough." A brave North Carolinian had somehow and somewhere come in possession of a silk ("stove pipe") hat, and had made himself conspicuous by persisting in wearing it, despite the advice and warnings of his companions, and indeed of the whole division, as the men used frequently to tell him, as he passed by, to "come down out of that hat," "I see your feet hanging down from that stove pipe," etc.—all of which he heard with imperturbable good humor, generally making some witty reply. In walking over the battle-field I was pained to see the well-known tall hat, and upon nearing it, to recognize the handsome, good-natured face and manly form of the gallant wearer lying cold in death. He had been shot in the head. His reckless daring reminded me of the hardihood shown, during the battle of Gaines' Mill in 1862, by Captain L'Etoudal, of Company "A," the French company from Mobile. The day was intensely hot, and L'Etoudal was very fat, weighing at least 250 pounds. He got hold of an umbrella, and while we were exposed to a heavy fire, and even while marching preparatory to charging the enemy, he kept the conspicuous article boldly and recklessly elevated over his head, and to repeated cries from the men ordering him to "put down that umbrella, you are attracting the enemy's fire to us," which was really true, he coolly replied, "I won't, it is too much hot," and the brave Frenchman absolutely refused to lower or close it and continued to shield his huge body from the sun's scorching rays, preferring to risk the bullets to the terrible heat. The company laughed at and approved their captain's daring conduct, and did not join in the almost universal request to "haul down that umbrella." The poor fellow died soon after, a victim to disease. He always reminded me of Lieutenant Porgy, a racy character in Wm. Gilmore Simms' interesting novel, "The Partisan." We slept in line of battle, on our arms, ready for action, near the battle-field. Privates W. A. Moore and T. M. Kimbrough came in from hospital to-day.
July 19th—Rested undisturbed in the woods. Private W. F.
