A correspondent of the Philadelphia Times, who visited the battle-field at Spottsylvania Court House, writes: "The Deputy Sheriff, inn-keeper, and leading citizen of the settlement, Mr. Ashby, who is a kinsman of the brilliant cavalryman of that name, kindly offered to show me what was to be seen, and after breakfast he started for what he called the "Horseshoe," or, as it is more generally known, the "Bloody Angle." Driving northward on the level Brock road for less than a half-mile we wheeled abruptly into a by-way to the right and began to pass through a thicket of small pines. These evergreens, which have grown on the margin of the McCool farm since the battle, threaten to choke the narrow road. What we were going through was more like a bridle-path than a place for wheels, but, heedless of the ends of limbs that whipped him in the eyes and brushed against the sides of the buggy, our horse dashed along, fetching us finally to a fallow field, wherein stands the McCool house. This place is one of grim fame and lasting history, for in the woods hereabout death's maw was gorged in the longest, fiercest, ghastliest hand-to-hand combat known to man. Tall oaks surround the house, which is a weather-beaten, rickety structure that clearly has been through the mills. At the time of the battle the dwelling was occupied by Farmer McCool, bachelor, with his two maiden sisters. When it grew hot and deafening all around, the family went into the cellar, and there Miss Millie, sitting by the side of her sick sister, wrote the following note: "GRANT, GENERAL. Sir: I desire that you stop this nasty fighting. There is a sick lady in the house. "MILDRED McCOOL." A trembling courier, in the person of a black boy, succeeded in delivering the note within the Union lines, but oddly enough the battle was allowed to continue. "And would you believe it!" Miss Millie was wont to exclaim, in chats with her neighbors many a year thereafter, "and would you really believe it! the Yankee General wasn't gentleman enough to grant a lady's request." "Shame! shame!" would come in chorus, and Miss Millie's ancient rocking chair would stand still from the very amazement of the good woman between its arms. And to this day Grant is held up by Miss Millie's friends as a person who is "no gentleman." One morning, two days afterward, it was so quiet that the occupants of the cellar concluded that the storm had swept over, and Farmer McCool cautiously thrust his head up from below. A Union soldier who saw the head grabbed at it and the old man ducked down, leaving his wig in possession of the laughing sharpshooters.
