The majority, however, of those now in the ranks
had since been drilled too often under like circumstances, and
with lead and iron shotted guns, not to know their duty, and the
lines of battle were as regular as the broken country allowed. So
far as many obstacles permitted, Marlow kept his proper distance
from the others on the line and fired coolly when he caught
glimpses of the retreating Confederate skirmishers. They were
retiring with ominous readiness toward a wooded height which the
enemy occupied with a force of unknown strength. That strength was
soon manifested in temporary disaster to the Union forces, which
were driven back with heavy loss.
Neither the battle nor its fortunes are the objects of our present
concern, but rather the fate of Private Marlow. The tide of battle
drifted away and left the soldier desperately wounded in a narrow
ravine, through which babbled a small stream. Excepting the voices
of his wife and children no music had ever sounded so sweetly in
his ears. With great difficulty he crawled to a little bubbling
pool formed by a tiny cascade and encircling stones, and partially
slaked his intolerable thirst.
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