time forth, was the signal for the deadest kind of silence. A slight which, on this occasion, elicited from that neglected individual an order forbidding “this ridiculous (?) habit of cheering.” Circumstances, you know, alter cases.

On reaching the crest of a hill, about two and a half miles south of the village, the artillery was placed “in battery,” while the Twenty-second, now pretty well filled up by the arrival of those who had given out from the privation and heat of the march, formed line of battle as supports, and it may be remarked, as an instance of the pluck and the fatigue of the men, that, though an engagement was momentarily expected, more than three quarters of the rank and file coolly lay down in their places and went to sleep. An hour passed, and the heavy boom of a cannon, and the explosion of a shell, brought even the most weary to their feet. Nothing was to be seen in front; but the thick columns of smoke ascending from Carlisle, the bright flashes of light and the frequent reports of artillery from the surrounding hills, showed us that the rebels had surrounded the place in overwhelming force, and, without affording to the helpless women and children an opportunity to escape, had commenced to shell the town.

Fortunately the moon had not yet risen, and the dusk of the evening concealed us as we stealthily crept back. On arriving we learned that a dash of cavalry had been made into the town, the government barracks and the gas-house fired, and the batteries had at once opened, without further warning. As there were inside, at that time, not more than eight hundred men, and one battery of four guns, and the attacking force numbered four thousand, with a much heavier force of artillery, things commenced to look as though our present journey would be continued via Richmond; but happily our division commander, General W. F. Smith, proved himself here, as everywhere else, fully equal to the emergency. While a portion of the Twenty-second were deployed as skirmishers on the flanks of the town, covered by sharpshooters, posted in the windows of the adjoining houses, behind which the artillery were placed, the centre of the town was protected by a force, mainly composed of the recent arrivals, concealed behind the heavy stone wall of the village cemetery. The Thirty-seventh, divided in like manner, were scattered around so as to make the largest possible show—some Reserves were also there—everywhere they should not have been—who were rushing around indiscriminately, and aggravating the Thirty-seventh tremendously by disturbing their ranks in so doing.

For the purpose of protecting our flanks, it was found requisite that out-lying pickets or scouts should be sent as far out to the front as they could go, to give all the notice possible of any advance of the enemy. The service was one of such danger, and the assurances of being “gobbled” by the rebels so great, that the cavalry detailed for that duty refused to perform it. Colonel Aspinwall, hearing of this, offered to supply their places. The offer was accepted, and a detail was made from Company D, who were stationed in the vicinity, guarding the barricade across the road. The three men selected, at once advanced without hesitation, and spent the whole night alone, in the extreme front, patrolling the approaches; and performed their difficult and arduous duty in such a manner as to earn a special compliment from Captain King of the Fourth regulars, the division chief of artillery.

Why our friends, the enemy, did not attack and capture the whole party of us remains a mystery to this day—but it is conjectured that some skirmishers of the Thirty-seventh, who were captured at the commencement of the fight, being no way daunted thereat, coolly told such huge stories about the First Division N. Y. S. M., as to “bluff” their captors. It was very evident, at least, that the rebels were wholly in the dark (figuratively as well as literally) respecting the position of our forces; and being compelled to fire at random, threw their shell around in a manner most disagreeable to witness from our end of their cannon. After at least two hours’ rapid firing, the rebels sent in a flag of truce, demanding the surrender of the place, very kindly allowing some fifteen minutes for the women and children, whom they had not already killed, to leave the town to escape the “certain destruction” which was threatened (à la Beauregard) if the request was refused; but refused it was by Gen. Smith, in terms more forcible than polite; so the batteries reopened.

It had now become a clear moonlight night; a portion of the artillery was so near that the commands of the officers could be distinctly heard, and the incessant flash and roar of the guns, the “screech” of shells flying overhead, and the heavy jar of their explosion among the buildings in the rear, seemed strangely inconsistent with the calm beauty of the scene. At times it seemed doubtful whether the incessant uproar was really the bombardment of a quiet village; for, during the momentary pauses of the cannonade, the chirp of the katydid, and the other peaceful sounds of a country summer night, were heard as though nature could not realize that human beings had sought that quiet spot to destroy each other.

It must not be supposed that any such sentiment, or in fact any sentiment whatever, was exhibited on our part; quite the contrary, for as soon as it became evident that no immediate attack would be made, the men, whether crouching at the house windows, or lying on their faces in the wet grass of the cemetery, went to sleep with a unanimity charming to witness; the heaviest shelling only eliciting a growl from some discontented private, that “it was a blasted humbug for the rebs. to try to keep a fellar awake in that manner;” the remark ending generally in a prolonged snore that proved the unsuccessfulness of the attempt.

Some time before dawn, preparations were made to receive the attack, which was expected to follow the instant that the first streak of daylight discovered our position. Officers bustled nervously around, the sleepers were cautiously awakened, and all stood to arms with the stern determination to resist to the bitter end; but judge of our gratification, when the shelling gradually ceased; and in a short time the announcement that the rebels had retreated, gave us an opportunity to look around, and ascertain the damages.

From the incessant uproar, the scream and report of the bursting shells, the glare of the flames, the smashing of buildings, and the other sounds incident to a bombardment, which had greeted our ears during the preceding night, the general expectation in the morning was to find the town a heap of ruins, and the great majority, both of troops and inhabitants, bleeding in the streets.

Never was there a greater mistake. It was really wonderful to think that so much cold iron could be fired into a place and cause so little loss of life and limb. To be sure much property had been destroyed, any amount of houses struck, many greatly damaged, and roofs and windows generally looked dilapidated enough; but, as in the other bombardments of the war, the destruction had been far from universal, and the escape of the occupants perfectly miraculous.

The citizens, concealed in their cellars, and the soldiers lying flat behind the cemetery walls and in the fields, had almost entirely escaped the iron tempest; shells had gone under and over any amount of people, but had really hit very few. Some of the townspeople were hurt, but the exact number is unknown. A few of the Reserves who were rushing around the streets, instead of obeying orders and keeping under cover, suffered heavily; the Thirty-seventh, always unlucky, had some hurt; while the Twenty-second, with more than