The Young Sharpshooter at Antietam

by Everett T. Tomlinson

There was no time, however, for further conversation, and as soon as he saw that the prisoner had been placed in charge of one of the boys, Noel threw himself upon the ground and crawled back among the rocks to a position where he was about fifteen paces in advance of his company. His intention now was to act as a sharpshooter, although he had received no orders to that effect.

Cocking his gun he rose abruptly from his position behind the rock, and there, directly in front of him and not ten paces away, he beheld a grim rebel just bringing his gun to aim. His dark eyes seemed to flash fire as they scowled fiercely from beneath the broad brim of a large, ugly hat. He was aiming directly at the young soldier, too, and there was slight chance of escape.

It was impossible for Noel to take careful aim under such circumstances. More quickly than ever before he brought his gun to his shoulder and blazed away, as it seemed to him almost at random, and then dropped instantly behind the protecting rock. He hardly dared to breathe during the excitement. Every part of a second seemed like a long time. There was a fear that the fire of the rebel would reach him before he could gain the protection of the rock, and, just as Noel dropped, the bullet tipped the edge of the stone above his head.

Step by step the enemy now were retiring. Without venturing from the position of safety which he had found, Noel waited until his line advanced.

The enemy still were falling back and the boys in blue still pressed steadily forward. More prisoners were secured and were regularly being conducted to the rear. The bodies of those who had fallen and the wounded were lying among the rocks.

For the first time Noel became aware that night was almost at an end. A feeling of indescribable weariness swept over him. Even the bodies of the fallen men, some of which were within ten feet of the place where he was standing, seemed to be vague and unreal.

The hospitals had been established about halfway down the hill. To them the wounded wherever they were found were still being carried. Gradually the sound of the guns off to the left had been dying away. Ricketts's men were holding the fence, while the regiment in the midst of which Noel Curtis and Dennis had been struggling was resting on its arms. No mounted orderlies could be found, as they had all been withdrawn to other parts of the army. Such horses as were left were secured by being tied to the trees.

After the necessary dispositions for the night had been made, the men, wrapped in their cloaks or having donned their heavier coats, in utter weariness threw themselves upon the ground.

Noel was far from feeling easy in his mind. With his comrades he was fearful that the enemy might make a night attack and was afraid of what might follow in the darkness and confusion.

The issue of the battle on the left was still uncertain and with this feeling of uneasiness still prevalent throughout the regiment the men sought to rest.