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that long range of cotton bales — a new material for breastworks --with the crowd of human beings behind, their heads only visible above the lines of defence. We could distinctly see their long rifles lying over the bales, and the battery of Gen. Coffee directly in front, with its great mouth gaping towards us, and the position of Gen. Jackson, with his staff around him.--But what attracted our attention most, was the figure of a tall man standing on the breast-works, dressed in linsey-woolsehoulder. This time we did not smile, but cast short glances at each other, to see which of us must die, and when the rifle again flashed another of us dropped to the earth. There was something awful in thus marching on to certain death. Gen. Coffee's battery and thousands of musket balls played upon our ranks. We cared not for them — there was a chance of escaping unscathed. Most of us had walked upon batteries a hundred times more destructive, without quelling; but to know that every
arms," the following account of what old-fashioned rifles can do, from an Englishman's description of the battle of New Orleans: It was a strange sight — that long range of cotton bales — a new material for breastworks --with the crowd of human beings behind, their heads only visible above the lines of defence. We could distinctly see their long rifles lying over the bales, and the battery of Gen. Coffee directly in front, with its great mouth gaping towards us, and the position of Gen. Jackson, with his staff around him.--But what attracted our attention most, was the figure of a tall man standing on the breast-works, dressed in linsey-woolsey, with buck-skin leggings, and a broad-brimmed felt hat, that fell around his face, almost concealing his features. He was standing in one of those picturesque and graceful attitudes peculiar to those natural man-dwellers in the forest. The body rested on the left leg, and swayed with a curved line upwards; the right arm was extended, th