e. Fourteen out of the sixteen corporals composing the color guard
were shot almost simultaneously; some killed; some wounded, but the colors
did not fall.

I was on my knees in the front rank. The corporal on my left was shot in
the head and fell across my legs. He spoke to me. I turned to look at him,
and said--"I cannot stop work now to help you." As I said this I was shot,
the bullet entering squarely on my breast, cutting off the first shirt
button below the collar. It passed through the bone, which turned its
course to the right, and passed out between the ribs. I was in the act of
loading my gun at its muzzle. I had the powder in. When hit my right arm
fell. I tried three times to put the bullet in and finish loading, hoping
to give the enemy one more shot. Finding I could not do it, I dropped my
gun, unstrapped my cartridge box and crawled to the rear until I came to a
cleared field where a battery was stationed firing over the heads of our
men into the Confederate ranks. As I raised up to walk, a gunner motioned
to me to step aside out of range and then continued firing. I walked
around back of the battery and stopped to see it work and listen to the
music of its roar.

The Confederate charge was stopped. My regiment lost about one hundred and
fifty men in killed and wounded within the few moments the engagement
lasted.

That night I lay on the ground under a large tree. Noting that every
breath sent bubbles of air through my wound, I called a soldier who was
trying to care for the wounded and told him I could not live long on
half-rations of air. He looked at my wound, tore some square pieces off a
bandage roll, placed them over the wound and punched them into it with his
finger and poured some cold water on the cloth. This caused the blood to
congeal about the cloth and enable me to get the benefit of the air I was
breathing.

The next morning I was taken back to Savage Station where I was placed on
Dr. Bliss' dressing table (he was then Medical Director of the Division)
to have my wound dressed. As he cut my shirt off I looked up at him and
said, laughingly, "Doctor here is a wound you cannot amputate." As soon as
he had uncovered it, he said, "It would be much better for you, my boy, if
I could."

When my shirt was cut off, I discovered another wound on my left arm about
half way between the shoulder and elbow. The bullet had chipped off a spot
as large as a silver dollar but had not buried itself in t