Noonday has passed, when suddenly from out the woods to our front and left onto the open field, dashes an officer, his horse urged to its greatest speed toward our command. The men see him coming, and in an instant they are aroused to the greatest interest. "There comes orders" are the words that pass from lip to lip along that line. Without commands the lines are formed behind the gun stacks; the cannoneers stand by their guns; the drivers stand with hand on rein and foot in stirrup, ready to mount. How quick, how great the change at the prospect of freedom from the suspense of the day. The eye lights up, the arm again grows strong, and the nerves are again growing steady; every head is bent forward to catch, if possible, the first news from the front, and to hear the orders that are to be given. All now are roused: there is to be no more suspense; it is to be action from now and on until the battle shall close. Nearer and nearer comes the rider; now you catch his features, and can see the fearful earnestness that is written in every line of the face. He bends forward as he rides, in such haste he is. The horse he rides seems to have caught the spirit of the rider, and horse and rider tell to the experienced soldier that there is to be work for us; that the urgency is great, and that the peril is imminent. How much there is of life, of the soldier's life, that cannot be painted on canvas or described in words; it is the inexpressible part--the face, the eye, the swaying of the body, the gesture of the hand, the movement of the head, as the officer, the soldier, feels that his comrades are in deepest peril, and that unless help comes, and comes quickly, all hope is gone. He speaks not a word, but his appearance speaks in thunder tones. Companions, you, and each of you, have seen just such times and such faces. Such was the face, and such the action of that staff officer that afternoon of September 19, 1863; and every soldier, as he saw him, read that face and form as though it were an open book--yes, and read it in all its awful, dreadful meaning--and, reading, realized their full duty. He reaches our line, and is met by our brigade commander, Col. Geo. F. Dick, as anxious to receive the orders as he is to give them. The command comes in quick, sharp words: "The General presents his compliments, and directs that you move your brigade at once to the support of Gen. Beard. Take the road, moving by the flank in 'double quick' to the left and into the woods, and go into line on the left of Gen. Beatty's brigade. I am to direct you. Our men are hard pressed." The last sentence was all that was said in words as to the condition of our troops, but it told that we had read aright before he had spoken.