went to the spot and looked over the ground. The Confederate dead lay
there thick, and I wondered, as I looked at them, if I had killed any of
those poor fellows. Of course I didn't know, and am glad now that I
didn't. And I will say here that I do not now have any conclusive
knowledge that during my entire term of service I ever killed, or even
wounded, a single man. It is more than probable that some of my shots
were fatal, but I don't know it, and am thankful for the ignorance. You
see, after all, the common soldiers of the Confederate Armies were
American boys, just like us, and conscientiously believed that they were
right. Had they been soldiers of a foreign nation,--Spaniards, for
instance,--I might feel differently.

When we "went in" on the above mentioned position old Capt. Reddish took
his place in the ranks, and fought like a common soldier. He had picked
up the musket of some dead or wounded man, and filled his pockets with
cartridges and gun caps, and so was well provided with ammunition. He
unbuckled his sword from the belt, and laid it in the scabbard at his
feet, and proceeded to give his undivided attention to the enemy. I can
now see the old man in my mind's eye, as he stood in ranks, loading and
firing, his blue-gray eyes flashing, and his face lighted up with the
flame of battle. Col. Fry happened to be near us at one time, and I
heard old Capt. John yell at him: "Injun fightin,' Colonel! Jest like
Injun fightin'!" When we finally retired, the Captain shouldered his
musket and trotted off with the rest of us, oblivious of his
"cheese-knife," as he called it, left it lying on the ground, and never
saw it again.

There was a battery of light artillery on this line, about a quarter of
a mile to our right, on a slight elevation of the ground. It was right
flush up with the infantry line of battle, and oh, how those artillery
men handled their guns! It seemed to me that there was the roar of a
cannon from that battery about every other second. When ramming
cartridge, I sometimes glanced in that direction. The men were big
fellows, stripped to the waist, their white skins flashing in the
sunlight, and they were working like I have seen men doing when fighting
a big fire in the woods. I fairly gloated over the fire of that battery.
"Give it to them, my sons of thunder!" I would say to myself; "Knock the
ever-lastin' stuffin' out of 'em!" And, as I ascertained after the
battle, they did do frightful execu