y were. Their band was playing "Dixie's
Land," and playing it well. The men were marching at a quick step,
carrying their guns, cartridge-boxes, haversacks, canteens, and
blanket-rolls. I saw that they had not been in the fight, for there
was no powder-smoke on their faces. "What regiment is this?" I
asked of a young sergeant marching on the flank. Back came the
answer in a quick, cheery tone, "The 36th Indiana, the advance
guard of Buell's army."

I did not, on hearing this, throw my cap into the air and yell.
That would have given those Indiana fellows a chance to chaff and
guy me, and possibly make sarcastic remarks, which I did not care
to provoke. I gave one big, gasping swallow and stood still, but
the blood thumped in the veins of my throat and my heart fairly
pounded against my little infantry jacket in the joyous rapture of
this glorious intelligence. Soldiers need not be told of the thrill
of unspeakable exultation they all have felt at the sight of armed
friends in danger's darkest hour. Speaking for myself alone, I can
only say, in the most heart-felt sincerity, that in all my obscure
military career, never to me was the sight of reinforcing legions
so precious and so welcome as on that Sunday evening when the rays
of the descending sun were flashed back from the bayonets of
Buell's advance column as it deployed on the bluffs of Pittsburg
Landing.

My account of the battle is about done. So far as I saw or heard,
very little fighting was done that evening after Buell's advance
crossed the river. The sun must have been fully an hour high when
anything like regular and continuous firing had entirely ceased.
What the result would have been if Beauregard had massed his troops
on our left and forced the fighting late Sunday evening would be a
matter of opinion, and a common soldier's opinion would not be
considered worth much.

My regiment was held in reserve the next day, and was not engaged.
I have, therefore, no personal experience of that day to relate.
After the battle of Shiloh, it fell to my lot to play my humble
part in several other fierce conflicts of arms, but Shiloh was my
maiden fight. It was there I first saw a gun fired in anger, heard
the whistle of a bullet, or saw a man die a violent death, and my
experiences, thoughts, impressions, and sensations