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attack in front, had turned the right and was rapidly gaining the rear of our position. Believing that only the intervening timber and underbrush obscured their movements, we expected them upon us immediately.

By this flank movement, what was our front became the rear and the right flank of the army became its left. Soon came the order, shrill and loud, "Fall in, men," when a line was formed, fronting to the northwest, and, advancing a short distance in the wood, we took a position overlooking a ravine. The underbrush was cleared and obstructions to movements in line or column removed, that when the expected attack should come, nothing might prevent a close, rapid and deadly fire. In this position we remained a half hour, straining our eyes through the deep openings in the wood and over the summits of distant ridges, watching for an approaching force-but we looked and listened in vain. Not a movement or sound disturbed the calm repose of the morning. Then came an order to march, when the column was headed to the north-east, reaching the telegraph road, which was packed with a moving mass of wagons, horses, mules and men, slowly drifting from the Elk-Horn Tavern to the shelter of the woods and ravines near the position we had just left.

The Third Iowa Cavalry, and detachments from various Missouri cavalry regiments, came from the northeast and filed towards the left, followed by a section of artillery. Then came Jeff. C. Davis, with his Indiana regiments, moving to the positions assigned them. As yet no hostile battalions disputed our progress, or arrested the disposition that was being made of the forces. We saw no cannon crouching open-mouthed and looking threateningly down upon us. Except the continuous sound of slowly moving columns, the grinding of artillery wheels over the gravel-strewed paths, the braying of mules and the sharp

notes of command, all was peaceful and calm. Hills, fields and forests basked in the morning sunshine, or were gently swept by the shadows of passing clouds.

But at that moment of forboding calm, when everybody was listening for the stern summons to battle-bang! bang! bang! burst forth, a mile away to our right, telling us that the carnival had begun.

After the Indiana regiments had passed, the 36th fell in and marched northeasterly, threading the crooked forest trail until the extreme left of Davis's position was attained. It seemed as if we were marching away from where the roar of cannon indicated that the harvest of death had commenced. Entering a little clearing, we discovered the yellow hospital flags, fluttering from the gables of every house in the hamlet of Leetown, and the surgeons busy with the sad, yet humane task which it was theirs to perform. And now just ahead of us is heard the rattle of musketry, the cheers and yells of opposing forces, the whirr of shrieking bullets and all the awful din of battle. Passing through a narrow belt of timber and reaching the field beyond, the column was being formed in line, when "Look out for the cavalry!" was heard from the advance; then from out the babel of noise and fire, which but just now was heard in front, there rushed a dozen maddened and riderless steeds, and after them came tearing through the fields and brush with headlong speed, down along the marching column, squadrons of terrified cavalry, without hats or arms, in the utmost confusion and dismay. Some shouted as they passed, "Turn back! Turn back! They'll give you hell!" But unmindful of this admonition, the regiment moved on, gained the open field, rapidly completed its line and was ready for the fierce onslaught which now menaced them.

VICISSITUDES OF THE BATTLE.

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The cavalry disappeared in the woods to the rear, and nothing interposed between us and the long gray lines of the enemy forming in the woods which shadowed the northern side of the clearing. Their skirmishers occupied the field on our arrival, and were seen skulking through the dry and deadened cornstalks back to their lines, and many of their numbers were brought down by the unerring aim of our marksmen, and never left that field alive. The coolness and fearless stand of the 36th restored the confidence of the disordered command preceding it, which was upon the point of flying. Our batteries were planted, Hoffman's on the left, and Welfley's three guns, all he had remaining, supported by Company E of the 36th, on the right. The line of infantry slowly retired to the timber in their rear, forming behind the fence which partially protected them from rebel shot. The enemy, thinking we were retreating, showed themselves on the opposite side and threw down the fence, with the apparent intention of charging upon us. At once our batteries opened and rained upon their exposed ranks a tempest of shot and shell. We saw their lines waver as great gaps were made in their quivering ranks. Their dead and dying thickly strewed the field, while some in sudden panic hurried to the rear. Then the opposite forest became vocal with the thunder of artillery, and rebel batteries sent back a responsive tempest of shot. The greater part of the rebel fire was concentrated upon the batteries and supporting infantry, including Company E. of the 36th, who stood exposed to the pitiless storm upon that unprotected field. The men lay down and closely hugged the earth while shell went shrieking over their heads into the woods beyond, some, indeed, striking uncomfortably near, causing a little excitement among those under fire for the first time.

A shell killed John H. Harris and tore an arm from William Gibson, both of Company C. He started to find the hospital

alone, and when asked by Col. Greusel if he should not send some one to help him along, heroically replied, "No, Colonel, the men are needed here; I can find my way alone," and pale and bleeding he tottered to the rear to seek the surgeon's aid. A shell shattered a leg from Ira Fuller, of Company E, and in a dying condition he was borne off the field. Not a soldier flinched. The ranks of the brave closed up, and still the rending

storm went on.

But if their shot flew fast and furious, our batteries hurled an answering response of grape, shell and shot, which mowed down their ranks as with a whirlwind of fire. What could they do but bend beneath the storm and finally melt away before it, withdrawing their wavering ranks to the cover of sheltering woods? After their batteries had been silenced, and their menacing lines were no longer visible, Companies B and G were sent across the field and into the brush beyond to discover the enemy's position, and, if possible, their intentions.

A squad from Company B when near the fence saw a mounted officer making his way through the brush and coming towards them. When near by, they fired, and the Confederate officer fell dead from his horse. The skirmishers sprang over the fence, and Peter Pelican secured the gold watch found upon the dead body of the officer. Another of the boys was in the act of securing his belt and pistols, when a volley was poured upon them, and they fled back to the field and assumed their position in the line of skirmishers. The officer whom they had shot proved to be the Confederate General, Ben. McCulloch.

Our skirmishers found a number of Texas and Louisiana regiments in ambush behind the fence, with whom a lively contest was maintained for fifteen minutes. The fence seemed actually fringed with fire; every length of it concealed a score of sharp

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shooters, safely protected behind rails and logs, and able to select their living target, take deliberate aim and send their shot with fatal effect. Protected as they were, scarcely a federal bullet harmed them. Already many a wounded hero sprinkled Arkansas soil with his blood. To remain beneath that withering fire was but to perish, and to fall back became a necessity. But the overwhelming numbers and concentrated fire of the enemy had told heavily upon the thin line of skirmishers, and they retired, fighting, to their first position with the regiment, having twenty killed and wounded.

A charge from the enemy was looked for and guarded against, and then our batteries opened upon them with thunder bolts of wrath launched with unerring precision and merciless fury into their devoted ranks.

With fixed bayonets the 36th advanced across the field in splendid order, no flinching or falling out of line. The storm which howled about their heads might destroy but could not stop them. But the enemy did not wait their coming. They fled in a disorderly rout into the recesses of the forests. No enemy again appeared in force in this portion of the field during the remainder of the day. Occasionally a puff of smoke might be seen among the distant trees, followed by the muffled roar of cannon and the shriek of a projectile, to be met by an instant reply from Hoffman and Welfley.

There being no longer an enemy in our front, the attention of the batteries were called to a high elevation in the line of hills west from the Elk-Horn and more than a mile distant, from which position the whole field of widely scattered and contending forces could be overlooked. It was believed that the Confederate commanders were there, superintending the battle and directing the movement of troops to points most needing their presence. The