the foot of the hill, in the road, lies Lieutenant-Colonel Harris, with a shattered hip — Harris, than whom no better or braver officer lives.
Half-way up the ascent lies Major Wheeler, of the Fifth Wisconsin, but just recovered from a previous wound, to be again struck down.
At the edge of the parapet, urging on the men, Lieutenant Russell, aid-de-camp and near relative to the General, is smitten from his horse with a dangerous wound — a courageous, high-toned soldier.
Close by him falls Clark, Adjutant of the Sixth Maine--rebel-hating, rebel-defying, even as he was borne from the field.
The General had already sent back for the rest of his brigade; yet during the ten minutes that perhaps passed before they could come up at the double-quick, sixteen out of twenty-one officers, and a hundred and twenty-three out of three hundred and fifty enlisted men, of the Sixth Maine, had fallen, and of the Fifth Wisconsin, seven officers and fifty-six men were killed and wounded.