A SHAMEFUL DAY 'He tires betimes, that too fast spurs betimes."--Shakespeare. "_Fall in, men! Fall in Company D_!" It was after two o'clock on the morning of July 21. We had scarcely slept. For two or three days we had been in a constant state of nervous expectancy. On the 18th the armed reconnaissance on Bull Run had brought more than our generals had counted on; we had heard the combat, but had taken no part in it. Now the attack by the left had been abandoned. The early part of the night of the 20th had been spent in trying to get rations; at twelve o'clock we had two days' cooked rations in our haversacks. At about three o'clock the regiment turned south, into the road for Centreville. Willis said that we were to flank Beauregard's left; but nobody took the trouble to assent or deny. At Centreville there was a long and irksome halt; some lay down--in the road--by the side of the road; some kept their feet and moved about impatiently. An army seemed to be passing in the road before our column, and we must wait till the way was clear. Little noise was made by the column marching on the road intersecting ours. There was light laughter occasionally, but in general the men were silent, going forward with rapid strides, or standing stock still when brought to an abrupt halt whenever the head of the column struck an obstacle. I slept by snatches, awaking every time in a jump. Everybody was nervous; even the officers could not hide their irritation. * * * * * Six o'clock came. The road was clear; the sun was nearly two hours high. Forward we went at a swinging gait down the road through the dust. In ten minutes the sweat was rolling. No halt--no pause--no command, except the everlasting "Close up! close up!" Seven o'clock ... we turn to the right--northwest--a neighbourhood road; ... fields; ... thickets; ... hills--not so much dust now, but the sun getting hotter and hotter, and hotter and hotter getting our thirst. And Sunday morning ... Close up! close up! Hear it? Along the southeast the horizon smokes and booms. Hear it? The cannon roar in the valley below us. Eight o'clock ... seven miles; nine o'clock ... ten miles; ... a ford--we cross at double-quick; ... a bridge--we cross at double-quick; the sound of cannon and small arms is close in our front. What is that confusion up on the hill? Smoke and dust and fire. See them? Four men with another--and that other, how the red blood streams from his head! What are they doing up on the hill? They are dying up on the hill. Why should they die? Ah, me! ah, me! The Eleventh is formed at the foot of the hill; the commander rides to its front: "_Colour_--_bearer_--_twelve_--_paces_--_to the front_--MARCH! _Bat-tal-ion_--_pre-sent_--ARMS!" Then, with drawn sword, the colonel also salutes the flag--and cries, DIES BY IT! A mortal cold goes to the marrow of my bones; my comrades' faces are white as death. "_Bat-tal-ion_--_fix_--BAYONETS!