ey had not waited
to reload.

Many of our men had not a cartridge, but the enemy were so near that
every shot told.

Their line is thinned; they come still, but in disconnected groups; they
are almost in our midst; straight toward me comes a towering man--his
sleeves show the stripes of a sergeant. His great form and his long red
hair are not more conspicuous than the vigour of his bearing. He makes
no pause. He strikes right and left. Men fall away from him. Our group
is scattering, some to gain time to load, others in flight. The great
sergeant rushes toward me; his gun rises again in his mighty hands, and
the blow descends. I slip aside; the force of the blow almost carries
him to the ground, but he recovers; he comes again; again he swings his
gun back over his shoulder, his eyes fixed upon my head where he will
strike. I raise my gun above my head--at the parry. Suddenly his
expression yields--a look as if of astonishment succeeds to fixed
determination--and at the same instant his countenance passes through an
indescribable change as the blood spouts from his forehead and he falls
lifeless at my feet, slain by a shot from my rear[7].

[7] The attack at sunset described by Mr. Berwick was made by Grover's
brigade, of Hooker's division, and succeeded in driving back Gregg's
worn-out men, who were at once relieved by Early's brigade of Ewell's
division. [ED.]

Confusion is everywhere. Ones, twos, groups, are beginning to flee from
either side. Here and there a small body of men yet hold fast and
fight. The shouting is more than the firing. At my right I see our flag,
and near it a flag of the Federals.

In a moment comes a new line of the enemy; our ranks--what is left of
them--must yield. We begin to run. I hear Dominic
Spellman--colour-bearer of the First--cry out, "Jones, for God's sake,
stop!" I turn. A few have rallied and are bringing out the flag. Our
line is gone--broken--and Jackson's left is crumbling away. Defeat is
here--in a handbreadth of us--and Pope's star will shine the brightest
over America; but now from our rear a Confederate yell rises high and
shrill through the bullet-scarred forest, and a fresh brigade advances
at the charge, relieves the vanquished troops of Gregg, and rolls far
back the Federal tide of war. It was none too soon.

On the morning of the 29th of August thirty-one men had answered
roll-call in Company H. On the morning of the 30th but thirteen
responded; we had lost none