"Up from yon battery curled a cloud of smoke,
Shrieked o'er our heads a solitary shell,—
Then instantly in horrid concert roared
Two hundred cannon on the Rebel hills—
Hurling their hissing thunderbolts—and then
An hundred bellowing cannon from our lines
Thundered their iron answer. Horrible
Rolled in the heavens the infernal thunders—rolled
From hill to hill the reverberating roar,
As if the earth were bursting with the throes
Of some vast pent volcano; rocked and reeled,
As in an earthquake-shock, the solid hills;
Anon huge fragments of the hillside rocks,
And limbs and splinters of shot-shattered trees
Danced in the smoke like demons; hissed and howled
The crashing shell-storm bursting over us.
Prone on the earth awaiting the grand charge,
To which we knew the heavy cannonade
Was but a prelude, for two hours we lay—
Two hours that tried the very souls of men—
And many a brave man never rose again.
Then ceased our guns to swell the infernal roar;
The roll and crash of cannon in our front
Lulled, and we heard the foeman's bugle-calls.
Then from the slopes of Seminary Ridge
Poured down the storming columns of the foe.
As when the rain-clouds from the rim of heaven
Are gathered by the four contending winds,
And madly whirled until they meet and clash
Above the hills and burst—down pours a sea
And plunges roaring down through gorge and glen,
So poured the surging columns of our foes
Adown the slopes and spread along the vale
In glittering ranks of battle—line on line—
Mile-long. Above the roar of cannon rose
In one wild yell the Rebel battle-cry.
Flash in the sun their serried ranks of steel;
Before them swarm a cloud of skirmishers.
That eager host the gallant Pickett leads;
He right and left his fiery charger wheels;
Steadies the lines with clarion voice; anon
His outstretched saber gleaming points the way.
As mid the myriad twinkling stars of heaven
Flashes the blazing comet, and a column
Of fiery fury follows it, so flashed
The dauntless chief, so followed his wild host.
"We waited grim and silent till they crossed
The center and began the dread ascent.
Then brazen bugles rang the clarion call;
Arose as one twice twenty thousand men,
And all our hillsides blazed with crackling fire.
With sudden crash and simultaneous roar
An hundred cannon opened instantly,
And all the vast hills shuddered under us.
Yelling their mad defiance to our fire
Still on and upward came our daring foes.
As when upon the wooded mountain-side
The unchained Loki[[D]] riots and the winds
Of an autumnal tempest lash the flames,
Whirling the burning fragments through the air—
Huge blazing limbs and tops of blasted pines—
Mowing wide swaths with circling scythes of fire,
So fell our fire upon the advancing host,
And lashed their ranks and mowed them into heaps,
Cleaving broad avenues of death. Still on
And up they come undaunted, closing up
The ghastly gaps and firing as they come.
As if protected by the hand of heaven,
Rides at their head their gallant leader still;
The tempest drowns his voice—his naming sword
Gleams in the flash of rifles. One wild yell—Like
the mad hunger-howl of famished wolves
Midwinter on the flying cabris'[[E]] trail,
Swelled by ten thousand hideous voices, shrills,
And through the battle-smoke the bravest burst.
Flutters their tattered banner on our wall!
Thunders their shout of victory! Appalled
Our serried ranks are broken—but in vain!
On either hand our cannon enfilade,
Crushing great gaps along the stalwart lines;
In front our deadly rifles volley still,
Mowing the toppling swaths of daring men.
Behold—they falter!—Ho!—they break!—they fly!
With one wild cheer that shakes the solid hills
Spring to the charge our eager infantry.
Headlong we press them down the bloody slope,
Headlong they fall before our leveled steel
And break in wild disorder, cast away
Their arms and fly in panic. All the vale
Is spread with slaughter and wild fugitives.
Wide o'er the field the scattered foemen fly;
Dread havoc and mad terror swift pursue
Till battle is but slaughter. Thousands fall—
Thousands surrender, and the Southern flag
Is trailed upon the field.
"The day was ours,
And well we knew the worth of victory.
Loud rolled the rounds of cheers from corps to corps;
Comrades embraced each other; iron men
Shed tears of joy like women; men profane
Fell on their knees and thanked Almighty God.
Then 'Hail Columbia' rang the brazen horns,
And all the hill-tops shouted unto heaven;
The welkin shouted to the shouting hills—And
heavens and hill-tops shouted 'Victory!'
"Night with her pall had wrapped the bloody field.
The little remnants of our regiment
Were gathered and encamped upon the hill.
Paul was not with them, and they could not tell
Aught of him. I had seen him in the fight
Bravest of all the brave. I saw him last
When first the foremost foemen reached our wall,
Thrusting them off with bloody bayonet,
And shouting to his comrades, 'Steady, men!'
Sadly I wandered back where we had met
The onset of the foe. The rounds of cheers
Repeated oft still swept from corps to corps,
And as I passed along the line I saw
Our dying comrades raise their weary heads,
And cheer with feeble voices. Even in death
The cry of victory warmed their hearts again.
Paul lay upon the ground where he had fought,
Fast by the flag that floated on the line.
He slept—or seemed to sleep, but on his brow
Sat such a deadly pallor that I feared
My Paul would never march and fight again.
I raised his head—he woke as from a dream;
I said, 'Be quiet—you are badly hurt;
I'll call a surgeon; we will dress your wound.'
He gravely said:
"'Tis vain; for I have done
With camp and march and battle. Ere the dawn
Shall I be mustered out of your command,
And mustered into the Grand Host of heaven.'
"I sought a surgeon on the field and found;
With me he came and opened the bloody blouse,
Felt the dull pulse and sagely shook his head.
A musket ball had done its deadly work;
There was no hope, he said, the man might live
A day perchance—but had no need of him.
I called his comrades and we carried him,
Stretched on his blankets, gently to our camp,
And laid him by the camp-fire. As the light
Fell on Paul's face he took my hand and said:
PART II
PAUL' S HISTORY
"Captain, I hear the cheers. My soul is glad.
My days are numbered, but this glorious day—
Like some far beacon on a shadowy cape
That cheers at night the storm-belabored ships—
Will light the misty ages from afar.
This field shall be the Mecca. Here shall rise
A holier than the Caaba where men kiss
The sacred stone that flaming fell from heaven.
But O how many sad and aching hearts
Will mourn the loved ones never to return!
Thank God—no heart will hope for my return!
Thank God—no heart will mourn because I die!
Captain, at life's mid-summer flush and glow,
For him to die who leaves his golden hopes,
His mourning friends and idol-love behind,
It must be hard and seem a cruel thing.
After the victory—upon this field—For
me to die hath more of peace than pain;
For I shall leave no golden hopes behind,
No idol-love to pine because I die,
No friends to wait my coming or to mourn.
They wait my coming in the world beyond;
And wait not long, for I am almost there.
'Tis but a gasp, and I shall pass the bound
'Twixt life and death—through death to life again—
Where sorrow cometh never. Pangs and pains
Of flesh or spirit will not pierce me there;
And two will greet me from the jasper walls—
God's angels—with a song of holy peace,
And haste to meet me at the pearly gate,
And kiss the death-damp from my silent lips,
And lead me through the golden avenues—
Singing Hosanna—to the Great White Throne."
So there he paused and calmly closed his eyes,
And silently I sat and held his hand.
After a time, when we were left alone,
He spoke again with calmer voice and said:
"Captain, you oft have asked my history,
And I as oft refused. There is no cause
Why I should longer hold it from my friend
Who reads the closing chapter. It may teach
One soul to lean upon the arm of Christ—
That hope and happiness find anchorage
Only in heaven. While my lonesome life
Saw death but dimly in the dull distance
My lips were sealed to the unhappy tale;
Under my pride I hid a heavy heart.