Do you remember, Bob, that day at Wilson's Creek after we got separated in the Battle I ran into a pile of cavalry writhing in a road?
Well, there was one face in that awful struggling mass that I always remembered--and I never expect to see such a look of fear on a man's face again--he was a young fellow then, but now he's thirty-five or so.

Well--that was this man Brownwell.

I asked him about it the other day.

How he ever got out alive, I don't know; but the fact that he should turn up here proves that this is a small world.

Brownwell also is a writer from Writersville.