from behind which caused us to glance around. The body of Campbell's
troops, instead of pressing us closely, had lingered to take down more
pickets. Somebody--it may have been I--said, "Cowards!" Some one else,
doubtless the General, said, "Forward!"

Then the ground shook violently under our feet, a great bursting roar
deafened us, and before a scythe-like sweep of fire we at the front
tumbled and fell!

I got to my feet again, but had lost both sword and pistol in the snow. I
had been hit somewhere--it seemed in the side--but of that I scarcely
thought. I heard sharp firing and the sound of oaths and groans all around
me, so it behooved me to fight, too. There were dimly visible dark forms
issuing from the guard-house, and wrestling or exchanging blows with other
forms, now upright, now in the snow. Here and there a flash of fire from
some gun or pistol gave an instant's light to this Stygian hurly-burly.

A heavy man, coming from the door of the block-house, fired a pistol
straight at me; the bullet seemed not to have struck me, and I leaped upon
him before he could throw the weapon. We struggled fiercely backward
toward the pickets, I tearing at him with all my might, and striving with
tremendous effort to keep my wits as well as my strength about me, in
order to save my life. Curiously enough, I found that the simplest
wrestling tricks I tried I had not the power for; even in this swift
minute, loss of blood was telling on me. A ferocious last effort I made to
swing and hurl him, and, instead, went staggering down into the drift with
him on top.

As I strove still to turn, and lifted my head, a voice sounded close in my
ear, "It's you, is it? Damn you!" and then a great mashing blow on my face