The hours pass. Few in number, our division is a tempting bait to Bragg. General Breckenridge, with a column of many lines, advances upon us. With precision of movement they march across the open fields. The sight fascinates us! Splendid spectacle! They break the charm by opening fire and charging upon us with the shrill yell of the South. With a crash the lines meet, to mingle a moment and break apart. Our reserve becomes our front line. We fight for minutes that seem hours, with bayonet and clubbed musket, with deep cursing and loud yells, with hot rage and bold defiance, that rarest of happenings in battle comes to us--a hand to hand fight between lines of infantry upon an open field. We are overwhelmed by numbers and flanked by the greater force. Thrice has our color bearer been felled to earth, and of all the color guard not one is unhurt. But the regimental flag does not touch the ground. Gallant Phil Reefy, Lieutenant of Company F, strong and stalwart, bears it aloft. Sullenly we retreat to the river bank, fighting as we retire. We reach the stream. What is that deafening roar? It is as though heaven and earth had come together. Fifty-two guns, massed by Mendenhall, Chief of Artillery, commanding the position we had just left, have opened with grape and canister at short range upon the but now exultant foe. What dreadful slaughter! Masses of men fall writhing as the missiles hurtle through the air. They turn and flee, for mortal men cannot withstand such storm. We pursue until darkness comes, capturing prisoners, guns and stores, and Reefy, proudly exultant, plants the flag of the 19th Ohio upon two cannon captured in the tempestuous pursuit. [Illustration: REPULSE OF THE ATTACK OF THE COLUMN OF GENERAL BRECKENRIDGE, BEING THE CLOSING SCENE OF THE BATTLE OF STONE’S RIVER. Made from a picture drawn by Private Mathews, of the 31st Regiment, Ohio Infantry, during the war.] No battle of the war shows the dash, pluck, bravery and endurance of the American soldier better than Stone’s River. The attack, so spirited and bold, upon the right wing, under McCook, in the gray dawn of that winter morning, that forced it back until the exultant enemy was not only on our flank but in our rear! The speedy taking of new positions by the troops of the left wing, under Crittenden; their gallant and successful charge in the cedars that regained much of the ground so ruinously lost! The sturdy and immovable stand of the center, under Thomas, that resisted assaults most impetuous and broke the charging columns into disorganized fragments, as waves are broken on a rock-bound coast! The dash of the Southerners in attack, the steadiness of the Northerners in resistance, the impulsive ardor of the one, the deliberate repose of the other; both so characteristic! The bold front, the confident daring, the personal exposure, the actual leadership, and the unconquerable spirit of Rosecrans, that “plucked victory from defeat and glory from disaster!”