ers, and a destructive fire
poured into the works. Other batteries were brought up, and the fort was
soon silenced. The roar of battle sounded all along the line; the thunder
of cannon and the crash of musketry reverberated through the woods and
over the plain, assuring the impatient troops that they were engaged in no
trivial affair; that they were fighting a great battle, of which thousands
yet unborn would read upon the pages of history.

Our regiment closed up its lines, and the gallant colonel gave the order
to move forward in the direction of the field works. On, on, steadily and
firmly marched the men of Massachusetts, through ditch and swamp, through
mud and mire, loading, firing, and charging, as the enemy presented
opportunity. The hot work of the day had commenced; for, from every bush,
tree, and covert, which could conceal a man, the rebels poured a deadly
fire into the ranks of the advancing Federals.

Tom stood as firm as a rock. The doubts and fears which beset him in his
first battle had no existence on this day. So thoroughly had he schooled
his mind to the fearful ordeal of carnage, that he felt quite at home. He
was cool and determined, and continually encouraged those around him by
his cheering words as well as by his example.

"Ben is down!" exclaimed Hapgood.

"Poor fellow!" replied Tom, without taking his eye off the foe in front.

"There goes Bob Dornton!" added Hapgood.

"Stand up to it, my men!" said Tom, firmly, for he had no time then to
think of the fallen.

"Forward!" shouted the impetuous colonel, who, if he had never been
popular with the men before, was rapidly establishing himself in their
good graces by his unflinching heroism. "Forward! double quick! march!"

And on dashed the gallant regiment, mounting the enemy's lofty works, and
driving the foe before them like sheep, at the point of the bayonet. This
was the first experience of this exciting description which Tom had seen,
and he entered into the spirit of it with a hearty zeal.

"Halt!" was the order, as a regiment filed out in front of them, with a
flag of truce flying on its front. "Steady--don't fire," repeated several
officers along the line.

"What regiment are you?" shouted a person, as the flag came within
speaking distance.

"What are you?" demanded an officer of the storming party.

"We're the Alabama eighth!"

"We are the Massachusetts --th," replied our men.

"Then you are the villains we want!" returne