me over the stone bridge across the Antietam. They were fresh
troops; their flags were flying, their drums were beating, their bugles
braying. The line moved with huzzahs toward the ridge held by
Longstreet. From the left came tearing past the knoll the Confederate
batteries. Lee was massing them in the centre, training them against the
eastern foot of the ridge. There had been a lull in the storm, now
Pelham opened with loud thunders. Other guns followed. The Federal
batteries began to blaze; there broke out a madness of sound. In the
midst of it D. R. Jones with his twenty-five hundred men clashed with
Burnside's leading brigades.

Stonewall Jackson pulled the forage cap lower, jerked his hand into the
air. "Good! good! I will go, sir, and send in my freshest troops."

"Look," said Lee. "Look, general! On the Harper's Ferry road."

All upon the knoll turned and gazed. Air and light played with the
battle smoke, drove it somewhat to one side and showed for a few seconds
a long and sunlit road, the road from Harper's Ferry. One of the staff
began a low uncontrollable laughter. "By God! I see his red battle
shirt! By God! I see his red battle shirt!"

Lee with a glance checked the sound. He himself looked nobly lifted,
grave and thankful. The battle smoke closed, obscuring the road, but the
sound of marching men came along it, distinguishable even beneath the
artillery fire. "Good, good!" said Jackson. "A. P. Hill is a good
soldier."

Tawny with the dust of the seventeen miles, at a double quick and
yelling, the crimson battle flags slanting forward, in swung the Light
Division! D. R. Jones rallied. Decimated, out-worn, but dangerous, the
aiding regiments from the left did well. The grey guns worked with a
certain swift and steadfast grimness. From all the ridges of the
Antietam the blue cannon thundered, thundered. Blue and grey, the
musketry rolled. Sound rose into terrific volume, the eddying smoke
blotted out the day. Artillery Hell--Infantry Inferno--the field of
Sharpsburg roared now upon the right.

The Horse Artillery occupied a low ridge like a headland jutting into a
grassy field. Below, above, behind, the smoke rolled; in front the flame
leaped from their guns, the shells sped. There was a great background of
battle cloud, lit every ten seconds by the glare from an opposing
battery. John Pelham stood directing. Six guns were in fierce and
continuous action. The men serving them were picked artillery men.