Montgomery County sentinel. [volume] (Rockville, Md.) 1855-1974, 1880-07-23
Bringing Field Battery into Action.


1t hasn't the thrill of cavalry charge, nor
the grimness of line of bayonets moving
| slowly and determinedly on, but there is a
peculiar excitement about it that makes old
veterans rise In their saddles and cheer.
We have been fighting at the edge of the
woods. Every cartridge box has been emp
tied once and more, and a fourth of the bri-
gade has melted away in dead, wounded and
| missing Nota cheer is heard in the brigade.
We know that we are being driven foot by
foot, and that when we break back once
more the line will go to pieces and the
enemy will pour through the gap.
Here comes help!
Down the crowded highway galops bat
terry, withdrawn from some other position
to save ours. The field fence is scattered
while you could count thirty, and the guns
| rush for the hill behind u.s. Six horses TO a
piece-three riders 10 each gun. Over dry
bitches where farmer would not drive n
wagon, through clumps of bushes, over logs
a foot thick, every horse on the gallop, every
rider lashes his team and yellng--the sight
behind us makes us forget the foe in front.
The guns jump two feet high as the heavy
wheels strike rock or log, but not a horse
slackens his pace not cannonier loses his
seat Six guns, six caissons, sixty horses,
eighty men race for the brow of the hill as
if he who reached it first would be knighted.
A moment ago the battery was confused
mol. Wa lank anatp H.. II,
in position, the detached horses hurrying
away TO shelter from the mcrciless bullets,
the ammunition chests open, and along our
line runs the command, "Give them one
more volley and fall back to support the
gunsp We have scarcely obeyed when
boom boom boom! opens the battery, and
Jets of fire jump down and scorch the green
trees under which we fought and dispaired.
The shattered old brigade has chance to
breathe for the first time in three hours rs
we form line Of battle behind the guns and
lie down. What grim, cool fellows those
cannoniers arel Every man is a perfect
machine. Bullets splash dust into their
faces, but they do not vince Bullets sing
over and around them, but they do not
dodge. There goes one 10 the earth, shot
through the head as he sponged his gun.
The machinery loses just one beat--msses
just one cog in the wheel-and the work
goes on as before.
Every gun is using short fuse she'll The
ground shakes and trembles-tho roar shuts
out all sounds from battle line that il
miles long, and tho shell go shrieking into
the swamp TO cut trees off--to NOW great
gaps In the bushes--to hunt out and mangIe
men until their corpse cannot be recognized
rs human. You would think tornado was
bowling through the forest, followed by bill
lows Of fire, and yet men live through it,
aye press forward TO capture the batteryl
We can hear their shouts as they form for
rush.
Now the shells are changed for grape and
canister, and the guns are served so fast that
all reports blend in one mighty roar The
shrek of shell is the wickedcst sound In
war, but nothing makes the flesh crawl like
the demonlcal singing, purring, whistling
grapc-shot and the serpentlike hiss of can
lister. Mems legs and arms are not shot
through, but torn off. Heads are torn from
bodies, and bodies cut in two. A round
shot or shell takes two men out of the ranks
as II brushes through. Grape and canister
NOV swath and pile the dead upon each
other.
Through the smoke we see swarm of
men. IL Is not battle line, but mob Of
men desperate enough 10 bathc their bayo-
nets in the flame Of the guns. The guns
leap from the ground almost ms they are
depressed on the foe,and shrieks and screams,
and shouts blend into one awful and steady
cry. Twenty men out Of the battery are
down, and the firing is interrupted. The
foe accepts II rs sign of wavering and
como rushing ON. They are not ten feet
away when the guns give them last shot.
That discharge picks living men off their
feet and throws them into the swamp, a
blackened, bloody mass
Up, now, AZ the enemy are among the
guns There is silence Of ten seconds, and
then the flash and roar of three thousand
muskets, and rush forward with bayoncts.
For whaty Neither on the right nor left
nor In front Of us is living foe There arc
corpses around us which have been struck
by three, four, and even six bullets, and no
where on this acre Of ground Is a wounded
man The wheels of the guns cannot move
until tho blockade Of dead Is removed Men
cannot pass from caisson To gun without
climbing over winrows Of dead. Every gun
and wheel is smeared with blood-evcry
foot Of grass has its horrible stain.
Historians write of the glory Of war.
Burial parties saw murder where historians
saw glory.-Detr0t Free Press