Rensselaer Republican, Volume 21, Number 40, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 June 1889 — HARD HIT ON THE FIELD. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

HARD HIT ON THE FIELD.

We had been held in reserve for five j long hours while cannon thundered and j nrnahffat crackled spitefully along the' front» mile away A procession of dead *nA wounded had filed past ns until we were sick with horror. Shot and shell and bullet had fallen upon us behind the woods until the dry, dead, grass bore many a stain of blood. , ,j “-Attention! Forward—guide right—march!” Our brigade was going in at last, and there was a look of relief on the face of every officer and man as we got the word. „ ...-7-;- 1 - -—~. ... -“Utudo right—f ron t —f orward—march!” As we swung clear of the woods agu9t of wind raised the smoko for a minute, and 1 saw the plain jn our front blue with dead and wounded. Away beyond them was a lineof earthworks, and I had ono swift glimpse cf a thin blue line kneeling behind the cover. “Steady! Right dress! Double quick —march!” The air is alive with the ping of bullets and tli9 whiz and Shrieks of shot and shell. We bend our heads as if breasting a fierce gale laden with icy jielleta There is a wild cry—a shriek—a groan as men are struck and fall to the earthy but no one heeds them—no one hesitates It is a hurricane of death, but we feel a wild exultation in breasting it. Men shout, curse, sing, swing their hats and cheer. We are driving through the smoke cloud when there is a flash of fire in front. I seem to rise into the air and float hither and thither, and the sensation is rodreamyJand.fulLefi’est that 1 wish it could last forever. It is suddenly broken by the sound of my own voice. Is it my voice? it sounds strange and afar off to me. Why should i cheer and curse by turns? What lias happened? Ah! now 1 come back to earth again! Above and around mo is the smoke—the earth trembles under the artillery—men -•ftre-lTing’abqut' amt heSid® iße. Where is the brigade? Why did I drop out? I am lying on my hack and I struggle to sit up and look around. 1 rise to my knees, weave this way and that, topple over and struggle up again. There is red, fresh blood on the grass, on my hands, on my face. I taste it on iny lips as my parched tongue thrusts itself out in search of moisture. Who is groaning? Who is shrieking? Who is cheering? And-wiry should I laugh and exult? I will spring up and follow on after the brigade. Hero- - • • • * » • * “How do you feel?” My eyes are wide open, and I am lying on a cot in a large room. I see people walking about—other people lying on cots like my own. “I feel all right. Why?” “You were hard hit in the fight, four days ago, my boy.” “So there was a battle?’ “Yes.” “And I was wounded?” ’ “Had your left arm shattered by a piece of Shetl and we had to amputate it.”—Detroit Free Press.

Spottsyl vania—Might of May 19. 1864. The cannon's hush’d, The sword and thusHorseman and horse Patriots aro dead While solemnly the And lights the pallid features of the slain. I