"In which direction is Vicksburg?"
"There," replied "Junius," pointing out into the lurid smoke.
"I think it must be on the other shore."
"Oh, no! wait here a moment, and you will see the flash of the guns."
Just then I did see the flash of more guns than I coveted, and four or five shots came shrieking toward us.
Colburn and myself instinctively dropped behind the nearest hay-bales. A moment after, we were amused to observe that we had sought shelter on the wrong side of the bales—the side facing the Rebel guns. Our barge was so constantly changing position that our geographical ideas had become very confused.
Bombarding, Scalding, Burning, Drowning.
It does not often happen to men, in one quarter of an hour, to see death in as many forms as confronted us—by bombarding, scalding, burning, and drowning. It was uncomfortable, but less exciting than one might suppose. The memory impresses me far more deeply than did the experience. I remember listening, during a little cessation of the din, for the sound of my own voice, wondering whether its tones were calm and equable. There was hurrying to and fro, and groans rent the air.
"I suppose we can surrender," cried a poor, scalded fellow.