Firing began.  The Yankees were screened from view by bushes in the low ground between us and the river.  Much tall grass, woods, and broom-sedge covered the unwooded space between the opposing lines; rarely could a man be seen.  Our men stood in the dry ditch and fired above the bank, which formed a natural breastwork.  At my place, on the left of Company A, a large tree was growing upon the bank.  I was standing behind this tree; a bullet struck it.  The firing was very slow—­men trying to pick a target.  When the bullet struck the tree, I saw the smoke of a gun rise from behind a bush.  I aimed at the bush and fired.  Soon a bullet sizzed by me, and I saw the smoke at the same bush; I fired again.  Again the tree was struck, and again I fired.  The tree was a good protection,—­possibly not so good as the bank of earth, though it gave me a much better view,—­and I suppose I was a little careless; at any rate, while loading the next time I felt a sharp little pain on my arm.  I jumped back into the ditch.  My sleeve was torn between my arm and body.  I took off my coat—­there was hardly more than a scratch; the ball had grazed the inside of my arm about an inch below the armpit and had drawn some blood.

We skirmished all day, neither side advancing.  The battalion had no losses.  At night the Federals withdrew to their side of the river.  While going back to camp our men kept up a perfect babel of talk concerning their first day’s experience in the battalion of sharp-shooters.  They were to undergo other experiences—­experiences which would cause them to hold their tongues.

XXXI

GLOOM

     “He was a man, take him all in all,
     I shall not see his like again”—­SHAKESPEARE.

The time came for A.P.  Hill to follow on after Longstreet We broke camp on the 15th, and marched day after day through Culpeper; Chester Gap, Front Royal and Berryville.  On the 25th of June we forded the Potomac for the last time, crossing below Shepherdstown at the ford by which we had advanced nine months before in our hurried march from Harper’s Ferry to Sharpsburg.  We passed once more through Sharpsburg, and advanced to a village called Funkstown, in the edge of Pennsylvania, where our division rested for three days.

On the 29th, Sergeant Rhodes and I went foraging.  At some small farmhouses far off in the hills we found provisions to sell at cheap prices.  Our Confederate money was received with less unwillingness than we might have expected, We got onions, cheese, and bread—­rye-bread.  Rhodes was carrying a tin bucket; he wanted milk.  Coming back toward camp at sunset, we met in a lane two fine cows—­a boy driving them home from pasture.  We halted.  Rhodes ordered the boy to milk the cows; the boy replied that he could not milk.  “Well, I can,” said Rhodes.  I held the sergeant’s gun, and he soon drew his bucket full.  Meantime, I was talking with the boy.