since the opening of the battle. Just as we diverged to the right in order to secure the ground between the two batteries, a shot came very near to me, and turning my head, I saw Captain Reynolds go off his horse. I supposed, of course, that he was hit, and started to his assistance, but to my surprise he jumped up nimbly and remounted, saying, “That about took my breath away.” The shot must have passed within a few inches of him, and was what afterwards was known in soldier’s parlance, as “a close call.”

We pushed forward and got the pieces in position between Ricketts’s and Griffin’s batteries, but before a single shot could be fired, the fatal mistake of the day occurred, the mistake of supposing a rebel command to be a portion of our own forces. Thick and fast their bullets came in upon us, and they were fast approaching in their charge, when with almost superhuman energy, and with a rapidity that I never saw excelled and I think I never saw equaled, our cannoneers limbered to the rear and we withdrew with a loss in material of only a caisson, the pole of which was broken in the endeavor to turn on the side hill, and there was no time then to stop for repairs. Here private Bubb (Frederick) lost his life, and private Vose (Warren L.) was wounded and taken prisoner. A bullet went through my cap and ploughed a little furrow in my scalp. Jumping from my horse to assist Sergeant Wilcox (G. Holmes) in limbering his piece, the animal dashed off frightened by the confusion, and I was obliged to ride to the rear on the stock of the gun carriage.

Arriving on the northerly side of the turnpike, we were joined by Captain Reynolds near the “Doogan” House, and shortly after by Lieutenant Weeden. Captain Reynolds said that he had just seen Arnold, (Captain of the regular artillery) who had lost his battery. I hastened with the two guns off to the left, to the position that we first occupied in the morning, and, going into battery, commenced firing. The men worked steadier and cooler than they had at any time during the day. All at once there emerged from the timber in our front, a regiment or brigade of the enemy, evidently preparing for a charge upon us, and simultaneously came an order, from Captain Reynolds, I believe, to limber to the rear. I could not resist the temptation, in spite of the order, to give them one more shot before parting, and I directed the left piece to be loaded with canister. As the piece was fired, the enemy, apparently, was just ready to move forward on their charge. It appeared to me that a gap of full twenty feet was made in their line, which completely staggered them. This, I think, was the last shot fired on the field that day. The first one was fired by Sergeant Dwight.

Leaving the field on foot with this piece, I found the remainder of the battery a short distance away on the road, moving toward Centreville. Procuring a horse from one of the sergeants, I returned to the field in search of the horse that I had lost, for which I had great affection. The scene was one of indescribable confusion, although there appeared to be no fright or terror in the minds of the men who were leaving the field. Officers seemed to have lost all identity with their commands, subalterns and even colonels moving along in the scattered crowd as if their work was over and they were wearily seeking the repose of their domiciles. The scene was such as to remind one of that which can be seen daily in any large manufacturing town or village, when the operatives, let loose by the expiration of their hours of labor, all set out for their respective homes. During working hours the system for work is maintained, but upon the ringing of the bell, all depart according to their respective bents and wills. So upon this field, the general impression seemed to be that the day’s work was done and that the next thing in