The weekly register. [volume] (Point Pleasant, Va. [W. Va.]) 1862-1909, 1880-12-08
Supporting The Guns.


doterminedly on; but there is a pc.
culiarezclt6rncnt abou, i. ;hatmakcs
old veterans rise in their saddles and
cheer
We have been Sighting at the edge
Of the woods. Every cartridge box
has been emptied once and more, and
one.fourth Of the brigade has melted
away in dead and wounded and miss.
ing. Not a cheer is heard in the
whole brigade. We know that we
arc being driven foot by foot, and
that,when we break back once more
the line will go to pieces and that
the enemy will pour through the
gap.
Here comes help!
Down the crowded highway gal.
Tops a battery, Withdrawn from some
other position to save ours The
field fence is scattered while you
could count thirty, and the guns
rush for the hills behind us. Six
horses toa piece--t three riders toeach
gun. Over dry bitches where a farm.
er could not drive q wagon, through
clnmps of bushes, over logs a foot
thick, every horse on the gallop, ey-
cry rider lashing his team and yell
ing-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 q can
noneer loses his seat. Six guns, six
caissons, sixty horses, eighty men,
race for the brow Of hills as if he
who reached it FIRST would be knight
ed.
A moment ago the battery was a
confused mob. We look again, and
the six guns are in position, the de,
tached horses hurrying away, the
ammunition chests open, and along our
line runs command, Give them
one more volley and fall back to sup.
port the guns We have scarcely
o0eyed, when bonn! booml opens the
battery, and jets of fire jump down
and scorch the green trees under
which we fought and despaired.
The shattered old brigade has a
chance to breathe for the first time
in three hours as we form line and
lie down. What grim, cogl fellows
those cannoneers arel Every man is
a perfect machine. Bullets splash
dust into their faces, but they do not
winco. Bullets sing over aud around;
they do not dodge. There goes one
to the earth, shot through the head
as he sponged his gun. That ma
chinery loses just one beat, misses
just one cog in the wheel, and then
works away again as before
Every gun using short-fuse she'll.
The ground shakes and trembles, the
roar shuts out all sounds from bat.
tie line three miles long, and the
shells 60 shrieking into the swamp
to cut trees short of, to NOV great
gaps in the bushes, to hunt out and
shattcr and nangle men until their
oorpses cannot DO recognized as hu:
man. You would think tornado
was bowling through the forest, fol
loved by pillows of fire, and yet men
live through it-ayo, press forward
to capture the battery. We can hear
their shouts as they form for the
rush. .
Now the shells are changed for
grape and canister, and the guns are
fired so fast that all reports blend to.
gother in one mighty roar. The
shrek Of a she'll is the wickedest
sound in war; but nothing makes the
flesh crawl like the demoniac sing
Ing, purring, whistlipg grape,shop,
and the Serpent.like hiss OF canister.
Mems legs and heads are torn from
bodies, and bodies cut in two. A
round shot or shell takes two men
out of the rank as it crashes through.
Grape and canister NOV swath and
pile the dead on top of each other.
Through the smoke we see swarm
Of men. l, is not a battle line, but
mob Of men desperate enough to
battle their bayonets in the fame Of
the guns. The guns leap from the
ground, almost, as they are depressed
on the foe, and the shrieks and
screams and shouts blend into one
awful and steady cry. Twenty men