At one time, after discharging my piece over the railroad, and coming down to reload—the shot and shell of the enemy screaming and bursting over and around us, they having brought a number of their batteries to bear upon our particular position—I beheld one of our men (a very young fellow), with his head punched into the bank; and looking the picture of bewilderment and terror. Seeing that he appeared unhurt, I questioned him while loading my piece:
"What's the matter? Why don't you fire?" [No answer.]
"Is your piece loaded?" "Yes."
"Then, d—n you, get up, and act like a man!"
But he was too terrified to move, and I left him in disgust, although pitying the infirmity that should have deterred him from ever entering the army.
I have omitted to state that half a dozen of the marines, whom we had been guarding, had volunteered into Co. I (our smallest company in point of numbers), and in this engagement they acted with great gallantry. Our men were crowding the embankment towards the bridge, and one of the marines anxious to have his share of the fun, sung out—
"Make room for a marine, there, will you?"
"Bully for the marine!" shouted the boys, as they made way for him.