in,
and then "just let her rip awhile over the fire." I found the receipt a
good one and expeditious.

About two miles below us, near the river, we could plainly see the
enemy's camp-fires. Early next morning we were astir, and crossed the
other fork of the river on an improvised bridge made of boards laid on
the running-gear of wagons.

We felt assured that Fremont and Shields had received ample
satisfaction, and that we were done with them for the present at least.
Still more were we of this opinion when the wagon-train took the Brown's
Gap road leading across the Blue Ridge, we expecting, of course, to
follow. We did not follow, however, but took instead the route Shields's
forces had taken the day previous, along which lay the bodies of the men
we had killed, their heads, with few exceptions, being shot entirely
off.

Having gone about a mile, the enemy opened on us with artillery, their
shells tearing by us with a most venomous whistle. Halted on the sides
of the road, as we moved by, were the infantry of our brigade. Among
them I recognized my old school-teacher, Alfonso Smith, who had just
joined the army. I had many times quailed under his fierce eye and
writhed under his birch rod. The strain to which he was subjected under
these circumstances was doubly trying, waiting inactive for his first
baptism of fire. His eye was restless as we passed; perhaps he had a
presentiment, as he received his death-wound before the day was over.

Again our two Parrott guns were ordered forward. Turning out of the road
to the left, we unlimbered and commenced firing. The ground on which we
stood was level and very soft, and, having no hand-spike, we had to move
the trail of the gun by main force. The enemy very soon got our range,
and more accurate shooting I was never subjected to. The other four guns
of the battery now came up, and, passing along a small ravine about
forty yards behind us, halted for a time nearby. We were hotly engaged,
shells bursting close around and pelting us with soft dirt as they
struck the ground. Bob Lee came creeping up from his gun in the ravine,
and called to me, "Ned, that isn't making batter-cakes, is it?" The
constant recoiling of our gun cut great furrows in the earth, which made
it necessary to move several times to more solid ground. In these
different positions which we occupied three of the enemy's shells passed
between the wheels and under the axle of our gun, bursting at the trail.
O