I nodded.
“Oh, his mule bolted at the first shot over yonder, and the little fellow is after it. He's down the field there somewhere.”
How time dragged! The battery to left of us went into action, and began firing rapidly; we could mark the black figures of the cannoneers at the nearer guns, outlined against the sky over the crest, as they moved quickly back and forth. Twice they bore motionless bodies to the rear, and laid them down tenderly beyond the fierce zone of fire. Then the heavier pieces of artillery farther down the line burst into thunder, and we silently watched a large force of infantry move slowly past us up the long slope until they halted in line of battle just behind its summit, the advanced files lying flat upon their faces and peering over. But no orders came for us.
The eagerly expectant men moved back toward their picketed horses in anticipation of a hurried call, but as the minutes slowly passed and none came, they broke into little groups, sitting about on the ground, seemingly careless as to the dread rumbling in front, and the continuous zip of Minié bullets through the trees overhead. One or two, I noticed as I walked about, were writing what, possibly they dreamed, might be final words of love to dear ones far away; one more careless group were playing poker upon an outspread blanket; while a grizzled old sergeant, a God-fearing man, had drawn forth his well-worn pocket Testament, and was reading over again the familiar story of the Nazarene. The sullen boom of the great guns, deep, ominous, began to blend with the sustained rattle of musketry, telling plainly of heavy fighting by massed infantry; the smoke clouds, obscuring the blue sky, rolled high above the fringe of trees; the battle-line lying along the crest at our front swept down the hill out of our sight into that hail of death below; but we seemed to be forgotten.
Nearly noon by the red sun hiding behind the drifting powder cloud. The ever-deepening roar of ceaseless contest had moved westward down the valley, when an aide wheeled his smoking horse in front of the Colonel, spoke a dozen hasty words, pointed impetuously to the left, and dashed off down the line. The men leaped to their feet in eager expectancy, and as the “Fall in, fall in there, lads,” echoed joyously from lip to lip, the kindling eyes and rapid movements voiced unmistakably the soldier spirit. We moved westward down the long, bare slope in the sunshine, through a half-dozen deserted, desolate fields, and along a narrow, rocky defile leading into a deep ravine. Every step of our horses brought us closer to that deep roar of surging battle; the air we breathed became pungent with powder smoke, and once or twice we heard the deep hurrah of the North, the wild answering yell of the South, as victory rolled from flag to flag. Streams of wearied and wounded men began to pass us, white-faced and terror-stricken, or haggard and silent, but all alike seeking the rear. The head of our advancing column pushed them sternly aside, the troopers chaffing the uninjured without mercy, but tender as women to those who suffered. Back among the rocks, out of reach from plunging shells, a field hospital had been hastily set up; the ground was already thickly strewn with bodies, while surgeons labored above them, elbow-deep in blood. With averted, stern, set faces, paling to the cries of agony, we rode past, more eager than ever to strike the enemy.
At the mouth of the ravine we came forth into the broad valley, and halted. Just in front of us, scarcely a half-mile distant, were the fighting lines, partially enveloped in dense smoke, out from which broke patches of blue or gray, as charge succeeded charge, or the wind swept aside the fog of battle. The firing was one continuous crash, while plunging bullets, overreaching their mark, began to chug into our own ranks, dealing death impartially to horse and man. The captain of the troop next mine wheeled suddenly, a look of surprise upon his face, and fell backward into the arms of one of his men; with an intense scream of agony, almost human, the horse of my first sergeant reared and came over, crushing the rider before he could loosen foot from stirrup; the Lieutenant-Colonel rode slowly past us to the rear, his face deathly white, one arm, dripping blood, dangling helpless at his side. This was the hardest work of war, that silent agony which tried men in helpless bondage to unyielding discipline. I glanced anxiously along the front of my troop, but they required no word from me; with tightly set lips, and pale, stern faces, they held their line steady as granite, closing up silently the ragged gaps torn by plunging balls.
“Captain,” said Colgate, riding to where I sat my horse, “you will see that the paper I gave you reaches home safe if I fail to come out of this?”
I reached over and gripped his hand hard.
“It will be the first thing I shall remember, Jack,” I answered earnestly. “But we may have it easy enough after all—it seems to be an infantry affair.”
He shook his head gravely.