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 is booming, shells are shrieking and bursting, rifles are rattling, and occasionally a volley is fired. The rebel yell is now almost continuous. Still, on we sweep. There is the place, near those thick bushes, where the gallant Lieutenant Roane received a scrapnel shot in his abdomen, when one of his men, whom he had just given the flat of his sword for showing the white feather, said: ‘I'm mighty sorry for Lieutenant Roane, but he oughn't to beat me like he did.’ We are halted. There is a lull in the fire and uproar. The Light Division has been ordered to take the lead. It is beginning to get dark. We move again, and just ahead is where we came out into the plank road (I could not understand before why we came out of the fields and woods into the road, but it is all plain now—we went straight, but the road makes a turn). It is there where we saw the deserted artillery, and the dead and wounded horses. All looks now just as it did then. I do not think the trees have grown a bit; even the bushes seem to be the same.
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