A pig was in a pen, in the yard! Everything else on the place had been hit, and we watched with interest the fate of that pig. He escaped all day! Just after dark, a shell skimmed just over our gun, went screaming back into that yard, burst,--and--we heard the pig squeal. Some of the men, at once, started for the yard, and came back with the pig. Said "he was mortally wounded, and they were going to carry him to the hospital." I fear he did not survive to get there! We disposed of his remains in the usual way. About noon we heard that our Right Section had been ordered into position, on the lines, some distance to our right, and that John Moseley, No. 8 at 1st gun, while with his caisson, back of the lines, had been killed. A stray bullet had pierced his brain. No one was with him at the time. He was found dead, in the woods. =Dr. Carter "Apologizes for Getting Shot"= The sharp-shooters swept all the ground about us, making it dangerous for any man to expose himself an instant. Dr. Carter took some canteens, and his cup, and went round under the hill behind us, to bring some water. With filled canteens, and tin cup, filled to the brim, carried in his right hand, he recklessly came back across the field, in rear of the line. Just before he got to us, a bullet struck his right thumb, and shattered it. He did not drop the cup or spill the water! He came right on, as if nothing had happened, offered us a drink of water out of the cup, and then courteously apologized to the captain for getting shot; who accepted his apology, and sent him off to the hospital, to have his thumb amputated; which he did, and was back at his post, the first moment his wound permitted. When we condoled with him for the loss of his thumb, he said "_He_ didn't care anything about the _thumb_; he could _roll cigarettes just as well with the stump_, as he ever could with the whole thumb. That seemed about all the use he had for his thumb,--to roll cigarettes. He was an artist at that! In the afternoon three or four of us were standing in a group talking when one of the numberless shells that were howling by all day long, burst in our very faces. I distinctly felt the heat of the explosion on my skin, and grains of powder out of the bursting shell struck our faces, and drew blood. The concussion was terrific! It was a pretty "close call" to all three of us! The stream of shells fired at our guns gradually cut away the top of our work, until it was so low that it did not sufficiently protect our gun. We feared that some of the shells would strike our gun, and disable it. To avert this, for many hours that day, from time to time, we had to take turns, and, with shovels, throw sand from the inside on the top of the work. In this way we managed to keep our defences up, but it was weary work, and we grew very tired. Still, there was nothing for it, but to keep on, and _we kept_ on! =Death of Captain McCarthy=