Imagine a cloud-capped fortress with an army encamped upon its summit and another army climbing its rugged slope. Holding in one hand the trusty musket and with the other grasping bush, tree, rock, anything that will assist the almost impossible ascent. Undismayed by the herculean task before them, undaunted by rebel yells above them, unappalled by the messengers of death that crash and howl about them, the blue line creeps up and up and up, until the cloud receives them out of sight, until the blue mingles with the gray in deadly conflict,--when the cloud is rendered vocal with the thunder of war, and such a storm cloud rages about the rocky coronet of old Lookout as earth has seldom witnessed. When our right flank reached the base of perpendicular rock which forms the crown of this monarch of East Tennessee, we faced to the front and swept the slope to the northeast, descending into ravines that furrow the slope, climbing the opposite bank with infinite labor. We make up for lack of speed, with yells, while the opposite mountain sends back the echoing battle cry, until the rebels afterwards captured said they thought there was a million of us. And so we charged the main works at “Whitehouse farm.” The rebels driven from the slope, here rallied, and stubbornly contested our advance. From the top they dropped their bullets among us. The artillery upon the summit sent their iron missiles screaming over us and growled above our heads in impotent fury at their inability to depress their muzzles so as to get our range. But we took the works on the run; and in all, bagged over 2,000 prisoners. Down to the left and front was a redoubt that was not carried with the rest of the works, owing to a deep ravine intervening, and we began indulging in some musketry practice upon the inmates which they were reciprocating in kind, when our Major, Acton, stepped down into the ditch where I was kneeling and proposed making an assault upon them. His light blue overcoat presented a conspicuous mark; and I could hear the cruel zip of the bullets that sought his life; and pulling his coat told him to get down. At this instant I heard the fierce whack of the bullet that pierced his heroic heart. He threw up his hands, and his cry of mortal anguish rings in my memory still. I sprang to my feet and caught him in my arms, easing him down; as his body sank upon my knee, I felt his form quiver and become rigid in the death agony, and saw his face receive the seal of the king of terrors. There fell a true hero. Obedience to duty was his watchword. He had lived a noble life, and died an honorable death, and fairly won his promotion at the hands of our Supreme Commander.