detachment" singing the loud, triumphant Marseillaise, as that same Napoleon gun, captured at Seven Pines, and used at Fredericksburg, drove them back. All that whole great movement was a marvel of hard fighting, however, and Pelham was the hero of the stout, close struggle. Any other chief of artillery might have sent his men in at Fredericksburg and elsewhere, leaving the direction of the guns to such officers as the brave Captain Henry; but this did not suit the young chieftain. He must go himself with the one gun sent forward, and beside that piece he remained until it was ordered back—directing his men to lie down, but sitting his own horse, and intent solely upon the movements and designs of the enemy, wholly careless of the "fire of hell" hurled against him. It was glorious, indeed, as General Lee declared, to see such heroism in the boyish artillerist; and well might General Jackson speak of him in terms of "exaggerated compliment," and ask General Stuart "if he had another Pelham, to give him to him." On that great day, the young son of Alabama covered himself with glory—but no one who knew him felt any surprise at it. Those who had seen him at work upon other fields knew the dauntless resolution of his brave young soul—the tough and stern fibre of his courage. That hard fibre could bear any strain upon it and remain unmoved.
In all those hard combats, no ball or shell ever struck him. The glance of the blue eyes seemed to conquer Danger, and render Death powerless. He seemed to bear a charmed life, and to pass amid showers of bullets without peril or fear of the result. It was not from the enemy's artillery alone that he ran the greatest danger in battle. He was never content to remain at his guns if they were silent. His mind was full of the contest, pondering its chances, as though he had command of the whole army himself; he never rested in his exertions to penetrate the designs of the enemy. Upon such occasions he was the mark at which the sharpshooters directed their most dangerous fire; but they never struck him. The balls passed to the right or left, or overhead—his hour had not yet come.
It came at last in that hard fight upon the Rappahannock, and
