ll sergeant gave us
an hour each day in the "facings" and the use of our guns, which had
been issued to us at midnight of Aug. 29--in a terrific thunder storm,
during which we were soaked--and in a bivouac without shelter. This
consisted of instructions in taking them apart, cleaning, assembling,
rapid loading and sighting. We remained in reserve in the fortifications
of Washington, marching hither and thither until Sept. 12--when we
started, in a temperature of 98 deg., after a drenching night's storm, on
the Antietam Campaign-- There was no time for further training. We were
put on the battle line--sandwiched between our Peninsula veterans of
seven battles. The lines were so close that our range was practically
point blank. There was no adjustment of sights--no wind guages--none of
the usual methods for work on a target range. It made little difference
whether the trajectory was flat or otherwise. Any boy who had ever used
a shot gun could load and blaze away into the close lines. The line
officers and file closers were veterans. The battle discipline was
flawless-- We touched elbows with men who had acquired the battle sense
and instinct in the hell of rifle fire--shell--shrapnel and close up
canister guns of the 12 pdr Napoleon type. A few days after a bloody
reconnoissance across the river, in which one of our regiments lost 289
men killed, wounded and missing in 20 minutes, we had a few days'
drill--and that _was all we ever got_. We were as good soldiers as ever
marched the roads or ever went in under our battle flags--at
Fredericksburg--Chancellorsville, Gettysburg--and on to the Seige of
Petersburg. We needed no long, drawn-out intensive training--because
there was no time to give it to us-- Our superb officers all recognized
that--and, as soon as we had got our _balance_, and recovered from the
battle shock--we fitted into the bloody game of war without any waste of
time, effort or lost motion. Our manual of arms would not have undergone
the critical scrutiny of a "_yearling Corporal_" at West Point--or a
"color man" "throwing up" for colors at guard mount--nor would our crude
attempts have excited much pride in the tactical officers at a perfect
West Point dress parade. Our shooting in the open at from 150 to 500
yards might also have aroused the merry laugh of a target range
sharpshooter with all of his implements for making a record score. But
we were _not striving_ for a _record score_--just shooting into ma