fin were making frantic efforts to reach the wall.
Griffin had his men concealed and protected in the wet, marshy bed of
the old canal. He now undertook to accomplish that which Howard had
attempted in the morning, and failed--the feat of taking the stone
walls with empty guns.

In this column of assault was the famous Meager's Irish Brigade, of
New York,--all Irishmen, but undoubtedly the finest body of troops in
the Federal Army. When the signal for advance was given, from out of
their hiding places they sprang--from the canal, the bushes on
the river bank, the side streets in the city, one compact row of
glittering bayonets came--in long battle lines. General Kershaw,
seeing the preparation made for this final and overwhelming assault
upon our jaded troops, sent Captain Doby, of his staff, along our
lines with orders to hold our position at all hazards, even at the
point of the bayonet.

As the rifle balls from the housetops and shells from the batteries
along the river banks sang their peculiar death notes overhead and
around us, this brave and fearless officer made the entire length
of the line, exhorting, entreating, and urging the men to redoubled
efforts. How Captain Doby escaped death is little less than
miraculous.

The casualties of battle among the officers and the doubling up
process of the men behind the wall caused all order of organization
to be lost sight of, and each man loaded and fired as he saw best. The
men in the road, even the wounded, crowded out from the wall by force
of number, loaded the guns for the more fortunate who had places, and
in many instances three and four men loaded the guns for one, passing
them to those who were firing from the top of the stone fence.
Each seemed to fight on his own responsibility, and with the same
determined spirit to hold the wall and the heights above. Each felt as
if the safety of the army depended upon his exertions alone.

With a firm and elastic step this long, swaying line of Irishmen moved
to the assault with as much indifference apparently to their fate
as "sheep going to the shambles." Not a shot was fired from this
advancing column, while the shells from our batteries cut swath after
swath through their ranks, only to be closed again as if by some
mechanical means; colors fall, but rise and float again, men bounding
forward and eagerly grasping the fallen staff, indifferent of the fate
that awaited them. Officers are in front, with drawn swords