We had been upon the top of the hill about 15 or 20 minutes when the firing began again

and gradually approached.

I kept my eyes fixed upon the open space in the direction of cold harbor and soon saw

the pickets slowly falling back and firing in retreat.

As they halted to fire and finally fell back to a little rivulet where we were stationed.

The artillery firing that we heard advancing now turned off and rattled furiously down

through the woods and soon volleys of muscatry mingled with the sound.

By and by saw a single horseman appear and another and another and soon several wheeled

around in the open space and the sunlight flashed on the polished surface of a brass field

piece.

It was the enemy planning his cannon and he had selected a splendid position for his

battery.

See, see, I said, they are planning their cannon.

Those are our cannons said Sergeant Fortiscue.

You don't suppose they would allow the enemy to place their piece there, do you?

Bang went the loud report and down went the battalion and directly over our heads whistled

the terrible engine of death.

Fortiscue arose out of the dust, his face pale and fixed with an anxious look.

We had a battery on the right, one on the left and one on the hill in the rear and all

three opened on the bold and daring enemy who returned the fire with great spirit and skill.

Every gun was exceedingly well managed and every shot and shell fell with great accuracy

almost in the midst of our crouching battalion.

...