This text is part of:
Table of Contents:
 grasped tighter as on, on they rush. God have mercy on them. The deadly canister sweeps through their rank, shorter and shorter grows their line. Heaven pity their poor mothers, whose prayers are even now rising to heaven for their darlings' safety. Oh! that some pitying hand would stretch out to stay them, but on, on, on, they march right into the jaws of the black monsters. Now they enter the smoke, they disappear. The thunder of six great guns is silenced. A juvenile shout is heard, and the survivors of that little band of heroes have captured the battery. Scarcely have we realized that they are victors until we find that they man the captured guns and turn them down our lines.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License.
An XML version of this text is available for download, with the additional restriction that you offer Perseus any modifications you make. Perseus provides credit for all accepted changes, storing new additions in a versioning system.