As we emerged from the bushes on the west bank, we came upon the One Hundred-and-fifteenth Illinois, drawn up in line, guns at a ready, a thousand eager fingers trembling upon the triggers. We dropped and crawled between their legs, and while we were struggling through, the whole line opened fire with a terrific volley. Had we been a moment later we would have got the full benefit of that volley, and this paper would never have been written. You may be sorry before I get through, but I’m glad I got through that line as soon as I did. Our line re-formed, but the whole brigade was forced to fall back, both flanks having been turned by a greatly superior force. The retreat was in good order, every foot of ground being contested for about two miles, when we were reinforced by the Second Brigade and stayed the tide until dark. We lay on our arms all that night. Next morning we felt for the enemy all over the ground traversed by our forces the day before: but he had vanished from our front. Gone to swell the mass that was being formed with the intention of crushing that immortal hero, Geo. H. Thomas. All that day we heard the stertorous breathing of a terrible battle, which was raging away to our right rear. About noon we took up our line of march in a southwesterly direction, in a direct line for the point where the clamor of war was most incessant. We moved with great celerity through the forest and across the farms. No fences barred our progress, for the presence of vast armies for several days had rendered the country defenseless. We soon came across signs of recent conflict, disabled cannon, dead horses, mangled corpses, in both blue and gray, and all the bloody paraphernalia of cruel war. Many of the dead were torn and blackened and burned by bursting shell until the ghastly fragments were indescribably shocking, and not at all calculated to encourage soldiers who knew they were just going into battle, and were candidates for a similar fate, with reasonable prospects of being elected. The hardest part of a battle is going into it. Much worse than going out. I think any thoughtful man upon going into battle, must go with a deadly sadness at his heart. I have seen the thoughtless and fool-hardy go in with a laugh and jest upon their lips, but they were not nearly so apt to stand fire as those who advanced with pale cheeks and serious aspect, for these had anticipated the danger and braced their nerves to meet it, and the shock of battle did not come to them as a surprise. Well, we were going into one of the most terrible battles of modern times, and many of us began to realize it by this time. Off to the south we could see the dense smoke of the battle, as well as hear the crashing of musketry and the booming of artillery, and the shot and shell began to pay their respects to us in a “way we despised.” We were hurried along the rear of the battle line toward the right of Gen. Thomas’ command, which was sorely pressed.