We were in this wheat field and the grains did almost breast-tie. The rebs had their

slight protection, but we were in the open, without a thing better than a wheat straw

to catch a mini-bullet that weighed in ounce. Of course our men began to tumble.

They lay where they fell, or if able, started for the rear. Near to me I saw a man

named Daily go down, shot through the neck. I made a movement to get his gun, but at that

moment I was struck in the shoulder. It did not hurt and the blow simply caused

me to step back. I found that I could not work my arm, but suppose that hurt was a

flush wound that had temporarily paralyzed it, and that it was not serious enough to justify

my leaving the fighting line. So I remained and did what I could in directing the firing.

Sometime after this I felt a blow on the left leg and it gave way so that I knew the

bone was broken. The stroke did not hurt and I did not fall, but turned around and

made a number of hops to the rear when my foot caught in the tangled grain and I went

down full length. While lying here entirely helpless and hearing those vicious bullets

singing over my head, I suffered from fear.

In a short time I heard a line of battle advancing from the rear, as the men came in sight

I sang out, don't step on me boys. Those in range of me stepped over and rushed forward

and fought the enemy in advance of the line we occupied. It was not many minutes after

these troops passed me that the rattle of musketry was again heard from that wheat field.

It was kept up for a good while and then it died down.

After a while I was aware that a skirmish line was coming from the front and soon discovered

that the skirmishers were not clothed in blue. The officer in command was mounted and

rode by within a few feet of me. This fighting was not severe and a short time after these

...