The night of December 30th we slept, or essayed to sleep, upon our arms, without fires. Never can I forget the dispirited and woe-begone look of the men as, rising from the frozen ground, they shook themselves at daylight. The hoar-frost covered them, giving to the uniforms of blue a new color, resembling somewhat the grey of the foe. Is there fighting quality in this line of shivering men? Can the battle fire be kindled in these chilled frames? A cold breakfast from the haversacks, a tin cup of coffee to each man, a warming drill in the manual of arms and their appearance is changed for the better. The order comes! We are to cross Stone’s River at the lower ford and lead the attack upon the enemy’s right. Rosecrans will strike with his left. An inspection of the guns, a distribution of ammunition, filling both cartridge boxes and haversacks, some words of encouragement and cheer from the youthful commander, and we move to the river bank, to find our crossing, by wading the cold stream, unopposed by the enemy. We form in line of battle upon the other side and are about to advance to the attack, when the sound of cannon, heard but faintly from our right a short time ago, becomes louder and more loud. A terrific battle is raging there and the movement of sound means our men are being driven. We are halted. There is stir and excitement among the division staff. We are ordered to recross the river and hasten to the support of the right wing. Bragg, actuated by the same motive as Rosecrans, conceiving the same plan, had attacked our right, but his fresh and sheltered troops struck their blow at an earlier hour. They doubled our line back upon itself. They took our straight bar of iron and bent it into a horse-shoe. Our right flank had become our rear. Defeat seemed imminent. On our hurried way, the 19th Ohio, leading Crittenden’s Division, met horses, teams and men in confusion most confounded. Rousseau, of Kentucky, riding bare-headed, cries to me, “What troops are these?” and to my answer says, with tearful entreaty in his voice, “For God’s sake! get quickly to the cedars on our right and stop this rout.” We hasten on. Rosecrans, pale with anguish of the thought that Garesche, bosom friend and Chief of Staff, had just been killed by his side, but determined of purpose and confident in bearing, says, “Men! you can save the day. Will you do it?” “Aye! Aye! sir; if mortal men can, we will!” We pass from the march by the flank into line under the direction of the Commanding General himself, my regiment forming the right of the front line.