neral Lyon was killed before nine o'clock, as I very well knew.
It was some days before I could rid myself of an impression that his
death occurred not far from noon.

The apparent extension of the hours was the experience of several
persons on that field. I think it has been known by many, on the
occasion of their first battle. At Pea Ridge, an officer told me,
there seemed to be about thirty hours between sunrise and sunset.
Another thought it was four P.M. when the sun was at the meridian.
It was only at Wilson Creek that I experienced this sensation. On
subsequent battle-fields I had no reason to complain of my estimate of
time.

The first shell from the enemy's guns passed high over my head. I well
remember the screech of that missile as it cut through the air and
lost itself in the distance. "Too high, Captain Bledsoe," exclaimed
our artillery officer, as he planted a shell among the Rebel gunners.
In firing a half-dozen rounds the Rebels obtained our range, and then
used their guns with some effect. The noise of each of those shells
I can distinctly recall, though I have since listened to hundreds of
similar sounds, of which I have no vivid recollection. The sound made
by a shell, in its passage through the air, cannot be described, and,
when once heard, can never be forgotten.

I was very soon familiar with the whistling of musket-balls. Before
the end of the action, I thought I could distinguish the noise of
a Minie bullet from that of a common rifle-ball, or a ball from a
smooth-bored musket. Once, while conversing with the officer in charge
of the skirmish line, I found myself the center of a very hot fire.
It seemed, at that instant, as if a swarm of the largest and most
spiteful bees had suddenly appeared around me. The bullets flew too
rapidly to be counted, but I fancied I could perceive a variation in
their sound.

After I found a position beyond the range of musketry, the artillery
would insist upon searching me out. While I was seated under a small
oak-tree, with my left arm through my horse's bridle, and my pencil
busy on my note-book, the tree above my head was cut by a shell.
Moving from that spot, I had just resumed my writing, when a shot tore
up the ground under my arm, and covered me with dirt. Even a remove
to another quarter did not answer my purpose, and I finished my notes
after reaching the rear.

It is not my intention to give the details of the battle--the
movements of each regimen