the ravine, and up, on the
other side, steadily presses Quinby, till he reaches the crest. He
opens fire. An advancing Rebel regiment retires, as he pushes up to
where the Union batteries and cannoniers lie wounded and dying--the
other three regiments following in line-of-battle until near the crest,
when the fire of the Enemy's rifles and musketry, added to his heavy
cannonading, grows so severe that the brigade is forced back to shelter
in a roadway leading up the plateau.

Peck's 2nd Wisconsin, now emerges from this sheltered roadway, and
steadily mounts the elevation, in the face of the Enemy's severe fire
--returning it, with spirit, as it advances. But the Rebel fire becomes
too galling. The gray-clad Wisconsin boys return to the sheltered road
again, while the cry goes up from Sherman's ranks: "Our own men are
firing at them!" Rallying at the road, the 2nd Wisconsin again returns,
with desperate courage, to the crest of the hill, delivers its fire, and
then, unable to withstand the dreadful carnage, falls back once more, in
disorder.

At this, the 79th (Highland) Regiment springs forward, to mount the brow
of the fatal hill, swept as it is, with this storm of shot and shell and
musket-balls. Up, through the lowering smoke, lit with the Enemy's
incessant discharges in the woods beyond, the brave Highlanders jauntily
march, and, with Cameron and their colors at their head, charge
impetuously across the bloody hill-crest, and still farther, to the
front. But it is not in human nature to continue that advance in the
teeth of the withering fire from Jackson's batteries, strengthened, as
they are, by Pelham's and Kemper's. The gallant fellows fall back,
rally again, advance once more, retire again, and at last,--the heroic
Cameron being mortally wounded,--fall back, in confusion, under the
cover of the hill.

And now, while Quinby's Regiment, on another ridge, more to the left, is
also again engaging the Enemy, the 69th New York, led by the fearless
Corcoran, dashes forward, up the Henry House hill, over the forbidding
brow, and beyond. As the brave Irishmen reach the abandoned batteries,
the hoarse roar of cannon, the sharp rattle of musketry-volleys, the
scream of shot and shell, and the whistling of bullets, is at once
deafening and appalling, while the air seems filled with the iron and
leaden sleet which sweeps across the scorched and blasted plateau of the
Henry House. Nobly the Irish Regiment holds