' an Duine,
speaks of the unearthly screaming and yelling that occurred, sounding--

"As if all the fiends from heaven that fell
Had pealed the banner-cry of hell."

That comparison leaves much for the imagination, but, speaking from
experience, I will say that of all the blood-curdling sounds I ever
heard, the worst is the terrific scream of a cannon ball or shell
passing close over one's head; especially that kind with a cavity in the
base that sucks in air. At least, they sounded that way till I got used
to them. As a matter of fact, artillery in my time was not near as
dangerous as musketry. It was noisy, but didn't kill often unless at
close range and firing grape and canister.

As stated in the preceding sketch, sometime during the forenoon the
regiment was sent to the support of a battery, and remained there for
some hours. The most trying situation in battle is one where you have to
lie flat on the ground, under fire more or less, and without any
opportunity to return it. The constant strain on the nerves is almost
intolerable. So it was with feelings of grim but heart-felt relief that
we finally heard the Colonel command, "Attention, battalion!" Our turn
had come at last. We sprang to our feet with alacrity, and were soon in
motion, marching by the flank diagonally towards the left, from whence,
for some hours, had been proceeding heavy firing. We had not gone far
before I saw something which hardly had an inspiring effect. We were
marching along an old, grass-grown country road, with a rail-fence on
the right which enclosed a sort of woods pasture, and with a dense
forest on our left, when I saw a soldier on our left, slowly making his
way to the rear. He had been struck a sort of glancing shot on the left
side of his face, and the skin and flesh of his cheek were hanging in
shreds. His face and neck were covered with blood and he was a frightful
sight. Yet he seemed to be perfectly cool and composed and wasn't
"taking on" a bit. As he came opposite my company, he looked up at us
and said, "Give 'em hell, boys! They've spoiled my beauty." It was
manifest that he was not exaggerating.

When we were thrown into line on our new position and began firing, I
was in the front rank, and my rear rank man was Philip Potter, a young
Irishman, who was some years my senior. When he fired his first shot, he
came very near putting me out of action. I think that the muzzle of his
gun could not have been more than