Nor was an element of fun lacking.  A Second Lieutenant was ordered to take a party of skirmishers to the top of a hill and engage those of the Rebels stationed on another hill-top across a ravine.  He had but lately joined us from the Regular Army, where he was a Drill Sergeant.  Naturally, he was very methodical in his way, and scorned to do otherwise under fire than he would upon the parade ground.  He moved his little command to the hill-top, in close order, and faced them to the front.  The Johnnies received them with a yell and a volley, whereat the boys winced a little, much to the Lieutenant’s disgust, who swore at them; then had them count off with great deliberation, and deployed them as coolly as if them was not an enemy within a hundred miles.  After the line deployed, he “dressed” it, commanded “Front!” and “Begin, firing!” his attention was called another way for an instant, and when he looked back again, there was not a man of his nicely formed skirmish line visible.  The logs and stones had evidently been put there for the use of skirmishers, the boys thought, and in an instant they availed themselves of their shelter.

Never was there an angrier man than that Second Lieutenant; he brandished his saber and swore; he seemed to feel that all his soldierly reputation was gone, but the boys stuck to their shelter for all that, informing him that when the Rebels would stand out in the open field and take their fire, they would d likewise.

Despite all our efforts, the Rebel line crawled up closer an closer to us; we were driven back from knoll to knoll, and from one fence after another.  We had maintained the unequal struggle for eight hours; over one-fourth of our number were stretched upon the snow, killed or badly wounded.  Our cartridges were nearly all gone; the cannon had fired its last shot long ago, and having a blank cartridge left, had shot the rammer at a gathering party of the enemy.

Just as the Winter sun was going down upon a day of gloom the bugle called us all up on the hillside.  Then the Rebels saw for the first time how few there were, and began an almost simultaneous charge all along the line.  The Major raised piece of a shelter tent upon a pole.  The line halted.  An officer rode out from it, followed by two privates.

Approaching the Major, he said, “Who is in command this force?”

The Major replied:  “I am.”

“Then, Sir, I demand your sword.”

“What is your rank, Sir!”

“I am Adjutant of the Sixty-fourth Virginia.”

The punctillious soul of the old “Regular”—­for such the Major was swelled up instantly, and he answered: 

“By —–­, sir, I will never surrender to my inferior in rank!”

The Adjutant reined his horse back.  His two followers leveled their pieces at the Major and waited orders to fire.  They were covered by a dozen carbines in the hands of our men.  The Adjutant ordered his men to “recover arms,” and rode away with them.  He presently returned with a Colonel, and to him the Major handed his saber.