me rolling up from the left. We were moving along a road which
led through open farm country, and through a strip of woods, beyond
which skirmishing was heard. During one of the frequent halts, while the
men were resting, some standing, others sitting or reclining at ease, a
rifle ball came whistling through the air, and struck with a sharp snap
in the rail-pile on which myself and others were sitting. It struck
between Jim Shaffer and myself. We both naturally squirmed a little at
the unpleasant nearness of the malicious little messenger. The affair
called forth laughter and jocular exclamations from those around: "How
are you _Johnnie_!" "Hit 'em again!" "Go _in_!"

The incident would not have caused any special notice, had it not been
so unexpected, on account of our distance from the scene of action.

Forward now through the woods, out upon the open ground beyond, where
the division is forming for its last battle. Their left now rests not
far from where their right was when they fought at Gaines' Mill, nearly
two years before. They advance some distance. "Some one has blundered."
They have no support on either wing. They are flanked, and, after a
brief struggle, are driven back. Some noble men were lost here. Parks,
of Company D, is mortally wounded; Daniel Graham is made prisoner. In
the retreat, two men carry back John Stanley, wounded in the arm and
side. At the wood they rally. A fence is torn down, and with this and
whatever is nearest at hand a breastwork is hastily improvised. A few of
the Bucktails have rallied on their right, and thrown up a similar
defense of logs, rails, any thing that can stop a bullet. Here the line
seems to terminate; but just beyond and a little back, is a brass
battery, concealed by bushes, every gun charged with grape and canister.
A house stands close behind the line, in a recess of the woods.

Now the enemy is seen advancing. Line after line comes swinging out.
Shells come screaming over. One explodes in front of Company D. Its
fragments sever the flagstaff close to Jim Shaffer's head, rip open Mike
Coleman's cap, tear off Culp's arm near the shoulder. Another bursts in
the house, and sets it on fire. A woman, bearing a baby in one arm and
leading by the hand a little child, comes out of the house, still
unharmed. Frightened and bewildered, she is passing along the rear of
the line instead of hastening away from it. A kind-hearted soldier
directs her toward a place of safety. But