The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce, Volume 02: In the Midst of Life: Tales of Soldiers and CiviliansBierce, Ambrose
History
The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce, Volume 02: In the Midst of Life: Tales of Soldiers and Civilians
Bierce, Ambrose
Horror tales, American; Paranormal fiction; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction; War stories, American
"On the next ridge, did you say, sir? Are the guns near the house?"
"Ah, you have been over this road before. Directly at the house."
"And it is--necessary--to engage them? The order is imperative?"
His voice was husky and broken. He was visibly paler. The colonel was
astonished and mortified. He stole a glance at the commander. In that
set, immobile face was no sign; it was as hard as bronze. A moment later
the general rode away, followed by his staff and escort. The colonel,
humiliated and indignant, was about to order Captain Coulter in arrest,
when the latter spoke a few words in a low tone to his bugler, saluted,
and rode straight forward into the Notch, where, presently, at the
summit of the road, his field-glass at his eyes, he showed against the
sky, he and his horse, sharply defined and statuesque. The bugler had
dashed down the speed and disappeared behind a wood. Presently his bugle
was heard singing in the cedars, and in an incredibly short time a
single gun with its caisson, each drawn by six horses and manned by its
full complement of gunners, came bounding and banging up the grade in a
storm of dust, unlimbered under cover, and was run forward by hand to
the fatal crest among the dead horses. A gesture of the captain's arm,
some strangely agile movements of the men in loading, and almost before
the troops along the way had ceased to hear the rattle of the wheels, a
great white cloud sprang forward down the slope, and with a deafening
report the affair at Coulter's Notch had begun.
It is not intended to relate in detail the progress and incidents of
that ghastly contest--a contest without vicissitudes, its alternations
only different degrees of despair. Almost at the instant when Captain
Coulter's gun blew its challenging cloud twelve answering clouds rolled
upward from among the trees about the plantation house, a deep multiple
report roared back like a broken echo, and thenceforth to the end the
Federal cannoneers fought their hopeless battle in an atmosphere of
living iron whose thoughts were lightnings and whose deeds were death.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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