He tires betimes, that too fast spurs betimes. SHAKESPEARE.

“Fall in, men! Fall in Company D!”

It was after two o’clock on the morning of July 21.

We had scarcely slept. For two or three days we had been in a constant state of nervous expectancy. On the 18th the armed reconnaissance on Bull Run had brought more than our generals had counted on; we had heard the combat, but had taken no part in it. Now the attack by the left had been abandoned.

The early part of the night of the 20th had been spent in trying to get rations; at twelve o’clock we had two days’ cooked rations in our haversacks.

At about three o’clock the regiment turned south, into the road for Centreville.

Willis said that we were to flank Beauregard’s left; but nobody took the trouble to assent or deny.

At Centreville there was a long and irksome halt; some lay down in the road by the side of the road; some kept their feet and moved about impatiently.

An army seemed to be passing in the road before our column, and we must wait till the way was clear.

Little noise was made by the column marching on the road intersecting ours. There was light laughter occasionally, but in general the men were silent, going forward with rapid strides, or standing stock still when brought to an abrupt halt whenever the head of the column struck an obstacle.

I slept by snatches, awaking every time in a jump. Everybody was nervous; even the officers could not hide their irritation.

Six o’clock came. The road was clear; the sun was nearly two hours high.

Forward we went at a swinging gait down the road through the dust. In ten minutes the sweat was rolling. No halt no pause no command, except the everlasting “Close up! close up!”

Seven o’clock ... we turn to the right northwest a neighbourhood road; ... fields; ... thickets; ... hills not so much dust now, but the sun getting hotter and hotter, and hotter and hotter getting our thirst.

And Sunday morning ... Close up! close up!

Hear it? Along the southeast the horizon smokes and booms. Hear it? The cannon roar in the valley below us.

Eight o’clock ... seven miles; nine o’clock ... ten miles; ... a ford we cross at double-quick; ... a bridge we cross at double-quick; the sound of cannon and small arms is close in our front.

What is that confusion up on the hill? Smoke and dust and fire.

See them? Four men with another and that other, how the red blood streams from his head!

What are they doing up on the hill? They are dying up on the hill. Why should they die?

Ah, me! ah, me!

The Eleventh is formed at the foot of the hill; the commander rides to its front:

“Colour bearer twelve paces to the front MARCH! Bat-tal-ion pre-sent ARMS!”

Then, with drawn sword, the colonel also salutes the flag and cries, DIES BY IT!

A mortal cold goes to the marrow of my bones; my comrades’ faces are white as death.

“Bat-tal-ion fix BAYONETS!

“For-ward guide centre MARCH!”

Slowly we move up the hill; the line sways in curves; we halt and re-form.

We lie down near the crest; shells burst over us; shells fly with, a dreadful hissing beyond us. I raise my head; right-oblique is a battery; ... it is hidden in smoke; again I see the guns and the horses and the men; they load and fire, load and fire.

A round shot strikes the ground in our front ... rises ... falls ... rises goes over. We fire at the smoke.

Down flat on your face! Do you hear the singing in the air? Thop! Johnson is hit; he runs to the rear, bending over until his height is lost.

And now a roar like that of a waterfall; I look again ... the battery has disappeared ... but the smoke rises and I see a long line of men come out of the far-off woods and burst upon the guns. The men of the battery flee, and the rebels swarm among the captured pieces.

Now there are no more hissing shells or bullets singing. We rise and look, to our right a regiment is marching forward ... no music, no drum ... marching forward, flag in the centre ... colonel behind the centre, dismounted, the men march on; quick time, right-shoulder-shift; the fleeing cannoneers find safety behind the regiment always marching on. The rebels at the battery are not in line; some try to drag away the guns; swords flash in the hot sun; ... the rebels re-form; ... they lie down; ... and now the regiment is at double-quick with trailed arms; ... the rebel line rises and delivers its fire.

The smoke swallows everything.

Again I see. The rebel line has melted away. Our own men hold the battery. They try to turn the guns once more on the fleeing rebels; and now a rebel battery far to the left works fast upon the regiment in disorder. A fresh rebel line comes from the woods and rushes for the battery with the sound of many voices. Our men give way ... they run the officers are frantic; all run, all run ... and the cavalry ride from, the woods, and ride straight through our flying men and strike ... and many of the fugitives fire upon the horsemen, who in turn flee for their lives.

It is long past noon; the sun is a huge red shield; the world is smoke. Another regiment has gone in; the roar of battle grows; crowds of wounded go by; a battery gallops headlong to the rear ... the men madly lash the horses.

“Bat-tal-ion ATTENTION!”

Our time is upon us; the Eleventh, stands and forms.

“For-ward MARCH!”

The dust is so dense that I can see nothing in the front, ... but we are moving. Smith drops; Lewis falls to the rear; the ranks are thinning; elbows touch no longer ... our pace quickens ... a horrid impatience seizes me ... through the smoke I see the cannons ... faster, faster ... I see the rebel line a tempest breaks in my face Surrender, you damned Yankee!”