Colonel H. R. Field was loading and shooting the same as any private in
the ranks when he fell off the skid from which he was shooting right
over my shoulder, shot through the head. I laid him down in the trench,
and he said, "Well, they have got me at last, but I have killed fifteen
of them; time about is fair play, I reckon." But Colonel Field was
not killed--only wounded, and one side paralyzed. Captain Joe P. Lee,
Captain Mack Campbell, Lieutenant T. H. Maney, and other officers of the
regiment, threw rocks and beat them in their faces with sticks. The
Yankees did the same. The rocks came in upon us like a perfect hail
storm, and the Yankees seemed very obstinate, and in no hurry to get away
from our front, and we had to keep up the firing and shooting them down
in self-defense. They seemed to walk up and take death as coolly as if
they were automatic or wooden men, and our boys did not shoot for the fun
of the thing. It was, verily, a life and death grapple, and the least
flicker on our part, would have been sure death to all. We could not be
reinforced on account of our position, and we had to stand up to the rack,
fodder or no fodder. When the Yankees fell back, and the firing ceased,
I never saw so many broken down and exhausted men in my life.
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