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Updated: May 19, 2025
Just then he heard the order being passed along to the 8th battery to give these guns a broadside of shrapnel, and as it would probably take a few minutes before this order could be carried out, Singley pulled out his note-book and glanced over the entries made during the last hour: No. 843. Japanese shell bursts through a plank covering. Trench manned afresh.
"Please take my kodak!" Singley himself arranged the exposure and handed the camera to the captain, saying: "There, it is set at one twentieth of a second. Now please take my picture Thank you, that's all right! And now you can have me removed to the hospital!" Before the men came to fetch him, Singley managed to add to his list: No. 848.
The need now became so imperative for a recognized church, that on Feb. 12, 1872, one was formally organized with forty-seven members, L.B. Hartman pastor, and John A. Stoddart, Henry O. Singley and G.G. Mayhew, deacons. The membership still increased rapidly, the little hall was crowded to discomfort, and it was decided to take a definite step toward securing a church building of their own.
A volunteer by the name of Singley, the war-correspondent of the New York Herald, worked with much greater equanimity, but then he had been through five battles before he gained permission to join the 7th Company for the purpose of making pencil sketches and taking photographs of the incidents of the battle.
The captain bent down to assist the war-correspondent, who was almost buried under a pile of earth. "Oh, my legs," groaned Singley. Two soldiers took hold of him and placed him with his back against the wall of earth. The lower part of both his thighs had been smashed by pieces from the shell. "Will you please do me a last service?" he asked of Captain Lange. "Of course, Singley, what is it?"
Her husband, whose real name was James D. Singley, was a professional Tenderloin crook, ready to turn his hand to any sort of cheap crime to satisfy his appetites and support life; the money easily secured was easily spent, and Singley, at the time of his marriage, was addicted to most of the vices common to the habitués of the under world.
She pulled towards her a pad which lay open upon the desk and wrote in a fair, round hand: "Mrs. James D. Singley." "This," she continued, changing her slant and dashing off a queer feminine scrawl, "is the signature we fooled the Lincoln National Bank with Miss Kauser's, you know.
Our war-correspondent, Singley, mortally wounded by a Japanese shell. Hail Columbia! Then he closed his book and put it in his breast pocket. Five minutes later two ambulance men carried him off to have his wounds attended to, and in the evening he was conveyed to the hospital.
Firing at the Japanese battery before Hilgard. Singley exchanged the film for a new one, and then looked about for another subject for his camera. He took off his cap and peeped carefully over the edge of the trench. Could he be mistaken? He saw a little black speck making straight for the spot where he was.
His worst enemy was the morphine habit and from her husband Mrs. Singley speedily learned the use of the drug.
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