An article written by Brigade Chief Surgeon Benjamin F. Ward appeared in the Confederate Veteran magazine, volume 16 (1908), p. 565. Ward wrote an incredibly moving story about Private Beverly Young of Company I ("Van Dorn Rifles"), 11th Mississippi Regiment, whose ancestral home was located on the Tombigbee River, near Columbus, Mississippi. I have included some excerpts here and would like to learn when and where he died. Ward: "Though wealthy, Beverly Young was modest, unassuming, and unpretentious, yet genial and courageous in the face of every danger." He was severely wounded at Gettysburg and was laid on the ground in an oak grove through which ran a small brook - possibly Willoughby Run. During the pitch black rainy night of the Confederate retreat on 4 July 1863, the brook overflowed its banks. "We were apprehensive that some of the brave fellows would drown before we could get them out, but we rescued them all. I waded in water knee-deep to where I knew [Young] was lying with his head at the root of a large oak. Hearing nothing from him, I thought he was drowned, and, stooping down to feel for him, I touched an uplifted hand wet and cold as the chill of death. I spoke to him. He recognized my voice and faintly answered, 'Doctor, I thought I was gone and was holding my hand up in prayer.' ... I took him by the arms, raised him into a sitting position, and, kneeling in the water with my back to his chest and making him clasp his arms around my neck, I staggered to my feet and carried him to high land, although his weight was greater than mine." When daylight came, Dr. Ward went to a nearby house to obtain enough straw to make comfortable beds for the wounded, but the owner wanted five dollars for it. "I walked back with a heavy heart, and I feel till yet the anguish that seized me when I looked on the pale and pinched features of those intrepid and bleeding boys a thousand miles from home dying upon the bare, wet, inhospitable soil of a heartless enemy without even an old Confederate blanket ... I told them I had not a dollar with which to purchase straw to make them a bed. Beverly Young was sitting down by a tree waiting for his clothes to dry on him. He put his hand in his pocket, took out a five-dollar gold piece, the last he had and that he had saved through many months of hunger and want for such an emergency as had now overtaken him, and said: 'Here, Doctor, take this and pay the old Shylock for his straw.' I replied that he was going to a Yankee prison, that he was badly wounded and would sorely need that money, and I did not feel it was right to take it. He said: 'Yes, take it and provide for those boys; they are worse off than I am.'" Once the straw arrived, the wounded were laid on it and their wet clothes taken and hung out to dry. Beverly Young, after having been rescued from certain drowning in the flood waters, gave his last dollar to aid his suffering comrades. He was afterwards taken to a Federal prison, where he died of his wounds. May such faith and selfless devotion never be forgotten.