No.1 and No. 3
ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA
CARLTON McCARTHY -1882
FUN AND FURY ON THE FIELD.
An artilleryman -he must have been a driver - says: when the firing had ceased an old battery horse, his lower jaw carried away by a shot, with blood streaming from his wound, staggered up to him, gazed beseechingly at him, and, groaning piteously, laid his bloody jaws on his shoulder, and so made his appeal for sympathy. He was beyond help.
The pathetic nature of this story reminds a comrade that a new man in the battery, desiring to save the labor incident to running up the gun after the rebound, determined to hold on to the handspike, press the trail into the ground, and hold her fast. He did try, but the rebound proceeded as usual, and the labor-saving man was "shocked" at the failure of his effort. Nothing daunted, the same individual soon after applied his lips to the vent of the gun, which was choked, and endeavored to clear it by an energetic blast from his lungs. The vent was not cleared but the lips of the recruit were nicely browned, and the detachment greatly amused.
At another gun it has happened that No.1 and No.3 have had a difficulty. No.3 having failed to serve the vent, there was a premature explosion, and No.1, being about to withdraw the rammer, fell heavily to the ground, apparently dead. No.3, seeing what a calamity he had caused, hung over the dead man and begged him to speak and exonerate him from blame. After No, 3 had exhausted all his eloquence and pathos, No. 1 suddenly rose to his feet and informed him that the premature explosion was a fact, but the death of No. 1 was a joke intended to warn him that if he ever failed again to serve that vent, he would have his head broken by a blow from a rammer-head. This joke having been completed in all its details, the firing was continued.
Another man tells how Eggleston had his arm torn away by a solid shot, and, as he walked away, held up the bleeding, quivering stump, exclaiming, " Never mind, boys; I 'II come back soon and try 'em with this other one." Alas! poor fellow, he had fought his last fight.
Poor Tom, he who was always, as he said, "willing to give 'em half a leg, or so," was struck about the waist by a shot which almost cut him in two. He fell heavily to the ground, and, though in awful agony, managed to say: "Tell mother I died doing my duty,"