“Then came the order—­’Forward, double quick!’
And we rushed into battle—­formed our line
Facing the foe—­the ambushed, deadly foe,
Hid in the thicket, with the Union flag—­
A cheat—­hung out before it—­luring us
Into a blazing hell.  The battle broke
With wildest fury on us—­crashed and roared
The rolling thunder of continuous fire. 
We broke and rallied—­charged and broke again,
And rallied still—­broke counter-charge and charged
Loud-yelling, furious, on the hidden foe;—­
Met thrice our numbers and came flying back
Disordered and disheartened.  Yet again
I strove to rally my discouraged men,
But hell was fairly howling;—­only Paul—­
Eager, but bleeding from a bullet-wound
In the left arm—­came bounding to my side. 
But at that moment I was struck and fell—­
Fell prostrate; and a swooning sense of death
Came on me, and I saw and heard no more
Of battle on that Sabbath.

“I awoke,
Confined and jolted in an ambulance
Piled with the wounded—­driven recklessly
By one who chiefly cared to save himself. 
Dizzy and faint I raised my head:  my wound
Was not as dangerous as it might have been—­
A scalp-wound on the temple; there, you see—­”
He put his finger on the ugly scar—­
“Half an inch deeper and some soldier friend,
Among the veterans gathered here to-night,
Perchance had told a briefer tale than mine.

“In front and rear I saw the reckless rout—­
A broken army flying panic-struck—­
Our proud brigades of undulating steel
That marched at sunrise under blazoned flags,
Singing the victory ere the cannon roared,
And eager for the honors of the day—­
Like bison Indian-chased on windy plains,
Now broken and commingled fled the field. 
Words of command were only wasted breath;
Colonels and brigadiers, on foot and soiled,
Were pushed and jostled by the hurrying hordes. 
Anon the cry of ’Cavalry!’ arose,
And army-teams came dashing down the road
And plunged into the panic.  All the way
Was strewn with broken wagons, battery-guns,
Tents, muskets, knapsacks and exhausted men. 
My men were mingled with the lawless crowd,
And in the swarm behind us, there was Paul—­
Silent and soldier-like, with knapsack on
And rifle on his shoulder, guarding me
And marching on behind the ambulance. 
So all that dark and dreadful night we marched,
Each man a captain—­captain of himself—­
Nor cared for orders on that wild retreat
To safety from disaster.  All that night,
Silent and soldier-like my wounded Paul
Marched close behind and kept his faithful watch. 
For ever and anon the jaded men,
Clamorous and threat’ning, sought to clamber in;
Whom Paul drove off at point of bayonet,
Wielding his musket with his good right arm. 
But when the night was waning to the morn
I saw that he was weary and I made
A place for Paul and begged him to get in. 
‘No, Captain; no,’ he answered,—­’I will walk—­
I’m making bone and muscle—­learning how
To march and fight and march and fight again.’ 
That silenced me, and we went rumbling on. 
Till morning found us safe at Arlington.