n assigned to him.

"Now, Tom, steady, and think of nothing but God and your country," said
old Hapgood, as the regiment commenced its rapid march. "I know something
about this business, and I can tell you we shall have hot work before we
get through with it."

"Where are the rebels? I don't see any," asked Tom, who found that his
ideas of the manner in which a battle is fought were very much at fault.

"You will see them very soon. They are in their breastworks. There! Look
down there!" exclaimed the veteran as the regiment reached a spot which
commanded a full view of the battle.

Tom looked upon the fearful scene. The roar of the artillery and the crash
of the small arms were absolutely stunning. He saw men fall, and lie
motionless on the ground, where they were trampled upon by the horses, and
crushed beneath the wheels of cannon and caisson. But the cry was, that
the army of the Union had won the field, and it inspired him with new zeal
and new courage.

Scarcely had the remnant of the brigade reached the right of the battery,
before they were ordered to charge down the valley, by Colonel Franklin,
the acting brigadier. They were executing the command with a dash and
vigor that would have been creditable to veterans, when they were ordered
to cross the ravine, and support the Eire Zouaves. The movement was made,
and Tom soon found himself in the thickest of the fight. Shot and shell
were flying in every direction, and the bullets hissed like hailstones
around him.

In spite of all his preparations for this awful scene, his heart rose up
into his throat. His eyes were blinded by the volumes of rolling smoke,
and his mind confused by the rapid succession of incidents that were
transpiring around him. The pictures he had painted were sunlight and
golden compared with the dread reality. Dead and dying men strewed the
ground in every direction. Wounded horses were careering on a mad course
of destruction, trampling the wounded and the dead beneath their feet. The
hoarse shouts