I went on towards the enemy's works looking for the men of my company and when within half gunshot of the rebel stockade, in a shallow gulley where the freshets had some time worn a little ditch, I found a squad of seventeen of my regiment hugging the ground and keeping up a steady fire on the rebel works. I lay down with them at the upper end of the line where the cover was the least, because it was the only place left for me, and I thought of the words of old French General Blucher, who was a veritable giant and always stuck up half his height above the entrenchments, Napoleon said to him one day when under fire, "Now, Blucher, you can afford to stoop a little?" "Damn your bit of a ditch," said Blucher, "it ain't knee deep!" And there lying flat on our backs and loading our pieces in that position, with the merciless sun blistering our faces, we passed that day of dreadful fighting. Once during the day, when some of our forces made an advance demonstration off to our right, we saw the slender blue line advance for a distance and then, repulsed, retire, leaving the field thickly strewn with the blue sheaves Old Death had gathered so quickly. Then a rebel battery was run up behind the enemy's work in our front and enfiladed our lines. Then how gloriously our little squad did pepper that battery when they would run it up in sight. We silenced the battery, but by our carelessness we lost one of our number killed, shot in the center of the forehead, and five others wounded. Often that day the bullets from front and rear passed so closely above our prostrate bodies that the short cane stalks forming a part of our cover, were cut off by them and lopped gently over upon us.