p of our
work, until it was so low that it did not sufficiently protect our gun.
We feared that some of the shells would strike our gun, and disable it.
To avert this, for many hours that day, from time to time, we had to
take turns, and, with shovels, throw sand from the inside on the top of
the work. In this way we managed to keep our defences up, but it was
weary work, and we grew very tired. Still, there was nothing for it, but
to keep on, and _we kept_ on!

=Death of Captain McCarthy=

About six o'clock, there fell the saddest loss, to the battery, that it
had yet been called to bear. Captain McCarthy stood up at the work to
watch what was going on in front. One moment, I saw him, standing
there;--the next instant, I heard a sharp crash, the familiar sound of a
bullet striking, and McCarthy was lying, flat on his back, and
motionless. We jumped to his side! Nothing to be done! A long bullet
from a "globe sight" rifle had struck him, two inches over his right
eye, and crashed straight through his brain. He lay without motion two
or three minutes, then his chest rose, and fell, gently, once or twice,
and he was still, in death.

And there, on that red field of war, with shells, and bullets whistling
all about, over his dead face, dropped the tears of brave men, who loved
him well, and had fought with and followed him long! We had seen his
superb courage in battle; his patient bearing of hardship, his
unfaltering devotion to duty always; his kind, cordial comradeship! We
knew him to be a soldier, every inch, and a patriot to his heart's core!

We knew, and said, that among all her sons, Virginia had no braver son,
than this one, who had died for her. Sadly we lamented--"What shall we
do, in battle, and in camp, and on march, his form and face missing from
among us?" There was not a sadder group of hearts along that
blood-drenched line that evening, than ours, who bowed deeply sorrowing
over the form of our dead captain. We took his body in our arms, and
bore it to where we could place it in an ambulance.

It was sent to his home, and family, in Richmond, and buried in "Shockoe
Cemetery." And now,--after thirty-two years have passed, we, the old
"Howitzers," still carry the name of "Ned McCarthy" in our hearts! We
keep his memory green; we think of him, and rank him as a typical
Confederate Soldier. One who by his splendid courage and devotion shed
luster upon the name.

His stalwart form has gone to dust. The l