first
volley, and compelled to leave the field. The contest suddenly grows
fierce. The Rhode Island boys push on to closer quarters, and the Rebels
under General Evans give way from a thicket to a fence, from a fence to
a knoll.

General Bee arrives with his brigade to help General Evans. You see him
swing up into line west of Evans, towards the haystacks by Dogan's
house. He is in such a position that he can pour a fire upon the flank
of the Rhode Island boys, who are pushing Evans. It is a galling fire,
and the brave fellows are cut down by the raking shots from the
haystacks. They are almost overwhelmed. But help is at hand. The
Seventy-first New York, the Second New Hampshire, and the First Rhode
Island, all belonging to Burnside's brigade, move toward the haystacks.
They bring their guns to a level, and the rattle and roll begin. There
are jets of flame, long lines of light, white clouds, unfolding and
expanding, rolling over and over, and rising above the tree-tops. Wilder
the uproar. Men fall, tossing their arms; some leap into the air, some
plunge headlong, falling like logs of wood or lumps of lead. Some reel,
stagger, and tumble; others lie down gently as to a night's repose,
unheeding the din, commotion, and uproar. They are bleeding, torn, and
mangled. Legs, arms, bodies, are crushed. They see nothing. They cannot
tell what has happened. The air is full of fearful noises. An unseen
storm sweeps by. The trees are splintered, crushed, and broken as if
smitten by thunderbolts. Twigs and leaves fall to the ground. There is
smoke, dust, wild talking, shouting, hissings, howlings, explosions. It
is a new, strange, unanticipated experience to the soldiers of both
armies, far different from what they thought it would be.

Far away, church-bells are tolling the hour of Sabbath worship, and
children are singing sweet songs in many a Sunday school. Strange and
terrible the contrast! You cannot bear to look upon the dreadful scene.
How horrible those wounds! The ground is crimson with blood. You are
ready to turn away, and shut the scene forever from your sight. But the
battle must go on, and the war must go on till the wicked men who began
it are crushed, till the honor of the dear old flag is vindicated, till
the Union is restored, till the country is saved, till the slaveholder
is deprived of his power, and till freedom comes to the slave. It is
terrible to see, but you remember that the greatest blessing the world