Only a narrow bank where one can scarcely tread; Thick branches meet o’erhead; across the mill-pond’s bed A bridge up-torn. One single sharp report:—A hundred muskets peal,— A wild triumphant yell, as back the army fell Stunned, bleeding, faint. As when some mighty rock, obstructs the torrent’s course; After the moment’s pause, ’twill rush with greater force, Resistless on. A moment’s pause, and then our leader from his post, Viewing the stricken host, cried, "Comrades!—all is lost If now we fail!" Forming in single file, they gaze with bated breath; Around,—before,—beneath,—on every hand, stern death His visage showed. "Forward!"—They quickly spring with leveled bayonet; Each eye is firmly set upon that pathway, wet With crimson gore. That Balaklava dash!—Right through the leaden hail, O’er dyke and timbers frail, with heart that never fail They boldly charge. Facing the scathing fire without a halt or break, Save when with moan or shriek in the blood-mingled creek The wounded fall. What could resist that charge?—Above the battle’s roar There swells a deafening cheer, telling to far and near, The Mill is won! Anecdotes of deeds of bravery and devotion kept cropping up all through the war. During the early part of the war on the Lower Mississippi, a former slave assisted in bringing in a lot of prisoners, and he himself actually drove his former owner before him into the Union camp! "Old Master" assumed bullying airs to induce him to let him escape, but the soldier pointed his gun at him repeatedly, saying, "Go on, sir, or I’ll shoot!" So he brought him into the camp, all radiant with smiles, and who can blame him for smiling at such a time as this? At Marion, Tennessee, there were many incidents of personal bravery, of which this was one. A colored soldier had got a tree stump close to the rebel line, and in spite of all efforts to dislodge him, he still stuck to his post, and picked off their men. The rebels charged on the stump, but when the Union line saw the movement they concentrated their fire on the advancing men, and drove them back. Then there followed long and loud cheering for that brave and lonely soldier, who still stuck to his stump and kept firing away with a regularity that was truly wonderful. The stump was riddled with bullets, but he still stuck to it, although at times he was nearer to the rebel lines than to the Union ones.