I had heard and read of battlefields, seen pictures of battlefields,
of horses and men, of cannon and wagons, all jumbled together, while the
ground was strewn with dead and dying and wounded, but I must confess
that I never realized the "pomp and circumstance" of the thing called
glorious war until I saw this. Men were lying in every conceivable
position; the dead lying with their eyes wide open, the wounded begging
piteously for help, and some waving their hats and shouting to us to go
forward. It all seemed to me a dream; I seemed to be in a sort of haze,
when siz, siz, siz, the minnie balls from the Yankee line began to
whistle around our ears, and I thought of the Irishman when he said,
"Sure enough, those fellows are shooting bullets!"

Down would drop first one fellow and then another, either killed or
wounded, when we were ordered to charge bayonets. I had been feeling
mean all the morning as if I had stolen a sheep, but when the order to
charge was given, I got happy. I felt happier than a fellow does when he
professes religion at a big Methodist camp-meeting. I shouted. It was
fun then. Everybody looked happy. We were crowding them. One more
charge, then their lines waver and break. They retreat in wild
confusion. We were jubilant; we were triumphant. Officers could not
curb the men to keep in line. Discharge after discharge was poured into
the retreating line. The Federal dead and wounded covered the ground.

When in the very midst of our victory, here comes an order to halt.
What! halt after today's victory? Sidney Johnson killed, General Gladden
killed, and a host of generals and other brave men killed, and the whole
Yankee army in full retreat.

These four letters, h-a-l-t, O, how harsh they did break upon our ears.