ed
fragments around and below us.

"Another shot will do our business," said Lowe, between his teeth; "it
isn't a mile, and they have got the range."

Again the puff and the whizzing shock. I closed my eyes, and held my
breath hard. The explosion was so close, that the pieces of shell seemed
driven across my face, and my ears quivered with the sound. I looked at
Lowe, to see if he was struck. He had sprung to his feet, and clutched
the cordage frantically.

"Are you pulling in there, you men?" he bellowed, with a loud
imprecation.

"Puff! bang! whiz-z-z-z! splutter!" broke a third shell, and my heart
was wedged in my throat.

I saw at a glimpse the whole bright landscape again. I hoard the voices
of soldiers below, and saw them running across fields, fences, and
ditches, to reach our anchorage. I saw some drummer-boys digging in the
field beneath for one of the buried shells. I saw the waving of signal
flags, the commotion through the camps,--officers galloping their
horses, teamsters whipping their mules, regiments turning out, drums
beaten, and batteries limbered up. I remarked, last of all, the site of
the battery that alarmed us, and, by a strange sharpness of sight and
sense, believed that I saw the gunners swabbing, ramming, and aiming the
pieces.

"Puff! bang! whiz-z-z-z! splutter! crash!"

"Puff! bang! whiz-z-z-z! splutter! crash!"

"My God!" said Lowe, hissing the words slowly and terribly, "_they have
opened upon us from another battery_!"

The scene seemed to dissolve. A cold dew broke from my forehead. I grew
blind and deaf. I had fainted.

"Pitch some water in his face," said somebody. "He ain't used to it.
Hallo! there he comes to."

I staggered to my feet. There must have been a thousand men about us.
They were looking curiously at the aeronaut and me. The balloon lay
fuming and struggling on the clods.

"Three cheers for the Union bal-loon!" called a little fellow at my
side.

"Hip, hip--hoorooar! hoorooar! hoorooar!"

"Tiger-r-r--yah! whoop!"

CHAPTER XII.

SEVEN PINES AND FAIROAKS.

Returning from White House on Saturday, May 29, I heard the cannon of
"Seven Pines." The roar of artillery came faintly upon the ear in the
dells and woods, but in the open stretches of country, or from cleared
hill-tops, I could hear also the volleys of musketry. It was the battle
sound that assured me of bloody work; for the musket, as I had learned
by experience, was the only certain sign