e expecting that the cavalry would soon break, and that we would be
ordered into action. But the news came from the front, that the cavalry
were not only holding their position, but were driving the enemy.
The earth jarred and trembled; the fire fiend seemed unchained; wounded
men were coming from the front. I asked the litter corps, "Who have you
there?" And one answered, "Captain Asa G. Freeman." I asked if he was
dangerously wounded, and he simply said, "Shot through both thighs,"
and passed on. About this time we heard the whoops and cheers of the
cavalry, and knew that the Yankees were whipped and falling back.
We marched forward and occupied the place held by the cavalry. The trees
looked as if they had been cut down for new ground, being mutilated and
shivered by musket and cannon balls. Horses were writhing in their death
agony, and the sickening odor of battle filled the air. Well, well,
those who go to battle may expect to die. An halo ever surrounds the
soldier's life, because he is ever willing to die for his country.

BATTLE OF DALLAS--BRECKINRIDGE CHARGES THE HEIGHTS

We are ordered to march to Dallas.

Reader, somehow the name and character of General John C. Breckinridge
charms me. That morning he looked grand and glorious. His infantry,
artillery, and cavalry were drawn up in line of battle in our immediate
front. He passed along the line, and stopping about the center of the
column, said, "Soldiers, we have been selected to go forward and capture
yon heights. Do you think we can take them? I will lead the attack."
The men whooped, and the cry, "We can, we can," was heard from one end of
the line to the other. Then, "Forward, guide center, march!" were words
re-repeated by colonels and captains. They debouched through the woods,
and passed out of sight in a little ravine, when we saw them emerge in an
open field and advance right upon the Federal breastworks. It was the
grandest spectacle I ever witnessed. We could see the smoke and dust
of battle, and hear the shout of the charge, and the roar and rattle of
cannon and musketry. But Breckinridge's division continued to press
forward, without wavering or hesitating. We can see the line of dead
and wounded along the track over which he passed, and finally we see our
battle flag planted upon the Federal breastworks. I cannot describe the
scene. If you, reader, are an old soldier, you can appreciate my failure
to give a pen picture