pleasant
predicament, and our Battery was drawn off in fine order, but not until we
had expended all our ammunition. Our men, as well as those of the entire
brigade, stood their ground bravely, and dealt dire destruction to the
enemy. Several of our men were killed and wounded about this time.

The battle still raged with great fierceness. The Rebels had gained a
great advantage, and had driven General McCook's wing two or three miles.

At this critical juncture, when it seemed as if we must suffer complete
annihilation--when the Rebel star was in the ascendant--Generals
Rosencrans and Thomas coming dashing along the line, cheering and rallying
their men, when they turned and fought like very tigers. And now the scene
was truly thrilling.

"Then more fierce
The conflict grew; the din of arms--the yell
Of savage rage--the shriek of agony--
The groan of death, commingled in one sound
Of undistinguished horrors."

Inch by inch was the lost ground recovered, as hand to hand friend and
foe grappled for the mastery. General Rosencrans, by his dauntless
bearing, cheered on our brave men to such deeds of valor as the pen of
history has seldom recorded. Fiercely did the Union troops throw
themselves in solid battallions against the fierce assailing foe. The roar
of artillery, the rattle of musketry, the groans of the wounded and dying,
rang horribly upon the ear.

Darkness finally closed over the scene, and, for the time, put an end to
the conflict. Weary and exhausted the men threw themselves on the
blood-dyed ground, to pass the hours of night, their ears filled with the
groans of their dying companions.

The number of killed and wounded, on both sides, this day, was quite
large.

Thus ended the old year of Eighteen Hundred and Sixty-Two.

SECOND DAY.

The New Year dawned not on faces radiant with joy and gladness; for, alas!
many of our brave comrades lay stark and cold on that ensanguined field.
No "Happy New Year" came from their voiceless lips--no kindly word of
greeting; but, with eyes upturned to Heaven, they lay mute in death. Never
again would that gray-haired father welcome his son on the threshold of
home. Never again would that meek-eyed mother fold her darling soldier-boy
to her heart. Never again would brother, nor sister, gaze upon his manly
form--for that brave boy slept his last sleep on the battle-field of his
country. Who shall say that the angels did not welcome