1909. The book begins: I now recall our part in the battle merely in a series of detached pictures, having dull, blank spaces between. Nevertheless, how vividly bright with color each separate scene photographed itself upon the retina of the eye. I remember our battery first going into action along the western edge of the old cemetery, among the billowy graves, the cracked, overturned stones; I recall the mass of green leaves, checkered by red blossoms, where the vine clambered over the large monument at our rear, and how I entangled my foot in the creepers and nearly fell. I shall never forget the ghastly white face of Rosecrans's aide, his long brown beard blown backward by force of the wind, as he came furiously spurring up the road, his head bare, his hand pointing forward, screaming out his orders; I remember the wild clang and turmoil as our startled horses plunged to the left, dragging after them the black guns, with muzzles still smoking grimly, on a mad, reckless gallop down into the shelter of a shallow ravine, splashing through the running water, and dashing in headlong impetuosity up the sharp incline of the opposite bank.
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