ieth by day; nor for the pestilence that walketh in
darkness, nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday. A thousand
shall fall by thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall
not come nigh thee."

Camp-fires innumerable are glimmering in the darkness. Now and then a
few mounted men gallop by. Scattering shots are heard along the picket
line. The gloom has lifted, and I wrap myself in my blanket and lie down
contentedly for the night.

2. At sunrise we have a shower of solid shot and shell. The Chicago
Board of Trade battery is silenced. The shot roll up the Murfreesboro
pike like balls on a bowling alley. Many horses are killed. A soldier
near me, while walking deliberately to the rear, to seek a place of
greater safety, is struck between the shoulders by a ricochetting ball,
and instantly killed. We are ordered to be in readiness to repel an
attack, and form line of battle amid this fearful storm of iron.
Gaunther and Loomis get their batteries in position, and, after twenty
or thirty minutes' active work, silence the enemy and compel him to
withdraw. Then we have a lull until one or two o'clock, when Van Cleve's
division on the left is attacked. As the volume of musketry increases,
and the sound grows nearer, we understand that our troops are being
driven back, and brigade after brigade double quicks from the right and
center, across the open field, to render aid. Battery after battery goes
in the same direction on the run, the drivers lashing the horses to
their utmost speed. The thunder of the guns becomes more violent; the
volleys of musketry grow into one prolonged and unceasing roll. Now we
hear the yell which betokens encouraged hearts; but whose yell? Thank
God, it is ours! The conflict is working southward; the enemy has been
checked, repulsed, and is now in retreat. So ends another day.

The hungry soldiers cut steaks from the slain horses, and, with the
scanty supplies which have come forward, gather around the fires to
prepare supper, and talk over the incidents of the day. The prospect
seems brighter. We have held the ground, and in this last encounter have
whipped the enemy. There is more cheerful conversation among the men.
They discuss the battle, the officers, and each other, and give us now
and then a snatch of song. Officers come over from adjoining brigades,
hoping to find a little whisky, but learn, with apparent resignation
and well-feigned composure, that the canteens have b