As soon as the head of our straggling column had reached the spot a desultory firing had begun.  One might have thought the living paid honors to the dead.  No; the firing was a military execution; the condemned, a herd of galloping swine.  They had eaten our fallen, but—­touching magnanimity!—­we did not eat theirs.

The shooting of several kinds was very good in the Cheat Mountain country, even in 1861.

WHAT I SAW OF SHILOH

I

This is a simple story of a battle; such a tale as may be told by a soldier who is no writer to a reader who is no soldier.

The morning of Sunday, the sixth day of April, 1862, was bright and warm.  Reveille had been sounded rather late, for the troops, wearied with long marching, were to have a day of rest.  The men were idling about the embers of their bivouac fires; some preparing breakfast, others looking carelessly to the condition of their arms and accoutrements, against the inevitable inspection; still others were chatting with indolent dogmatism on that never-failing theme, the end and object of the campaign.  Sentinels paced up and down the confused front with a lounging freedom of mien and stride that would not have been tolerated at another time.  A few of them limped unsoldierly in deference to blistered feet.  At a little distance in rear of the stacked arms were a few tents out of which frowsy-headed officers occasionally peered, languidly calling to their servants to fetch a basin of water, dust a coat or polish a scabbard.  Trim young mounted orderlies, bearing dispatches obviously unimportant, urged their lazy nags by devious ways amongst the men, enduring with unconcern their good-humored raillery, the penalty of superior station.  Little negroes of not very clearly defined status and function lolled on their stomachs, kicking their long, bare heels in the sunshine, or slumbered peacefully, unaware of the practical waggery prepared by white hands for their undoing.

Presently the flag hanging limp and lifeless at headquarters was seen to lift itself spiritedly from the staff.  At the same instant was heard a dull, distant sound like the heavy breathing of some great animal below the horizon.  The flag had lifted its head to listen.  There was a momentary lull in the hum of the human swarm; then, as the flag drooped the hush passed away.  But there were some hundreds more men on their feet than before; some thousands of hearts beating with a quicker pulse.

Again the flag made a warning sign, and again the breeze bore to our ears the long, deep sighing of iron lungs.  The division, as if it had received the sharp word of command, sprang to its feet, and stood in groups at “attention.”  Even the little blacks got up.  I have since seen similar effects produced by earthquakes; I am not sure but the ground was trembling then.  The mess-cooks, wise in their generation, lifted the steaming camp-kettles off the fire and stood by to cast out.  The mounted orderlies had somehow disappeared.  Officers came ducking from beneath their tents and gathered in groups.  Headquarters had become a swarming hive.