But the enemy are too strong for us, and our right begins to swing back, contesting every inch of ground. And the enemy’s left cross the cut. At this moment a man fell at my side. Picking up his musket, I leveled it and fired, and when in the act of lowering the piece, I felt a sharp pain in the fore part of my left arm, and glancing at it, discovered I was hit. Even as I did so, I received a tremendous blow in my left side, and was knocked off my feet, and fell heavily to the ground. Our troops giving way left me midway between the contending forces, and never did a poor devil more heartily wish himself away from a warm place than I did from this, for the bullets were knocking up the dust all about me; but I knew to move even a limb would draw the fire of the enemy, and I contented myself with laying still, and watching the progress of the fight. The combatants surged backwards and forwards as each gained or lost some temporary advantage; but the tide of battle was evidently fast going against Johnson. The enemy were too strong for him; still he fought on. Everything seemed lost, and Jackson’s corps will surely be cut in two. Why do not the reserves come up? Hark! What means that wild yell, and that cracking and crashing in the woods behind us? Hurrah! it is Starke with his Louisianians. It was a grand sight as those grim veterans emerged from the woods on the run. Nothing on earth could withstand the impetuosity of their charge, and the foemen were swept back across the cut like chaff, and the position was ours. Fearing I should be struck by some of the many flying bullets, I determined to get under the friendly cover of the position won, and after many efforts succeeded in getting on my hands and knees, and dragging myself to the bank, quietly rolled down. It was well I did so, for the enemy were not going to give it up without another effort. Fresh troops advanced, and the conflict was renewed with redoubled fury. Steadily the column in blue moved forward in the face of the terrible fire of the Confederates, and reached the very edge of the embankment. Our ammunition was giving out. No matter, stones lay around in abundance, and were hurled with desperate energy. “Bad luck to yez, there goes my last cartridge,” I heard an Irishman exclaim at my side. Remembering I had two packages in my jacket pocket that I had found in the haversack of the previous evening, I requested him to take them out. As he did so he uttered an exultant shout, and with a “Come on yez d—d Yankees, its Louisianians yer fitin now,” resumed his firing.