...Bounced Through Our Ranks Like Rubber Balls.

Slaughter Pen Farm, Fredericksburg--
"cannon balls were flying over and among us all the time, killing men and horses and tearing up the ground all around us." The adjutant of the Second Reserves, Evan M. Woodward, recalled that many of the missiles, "plowed up the earth in deep furrows, or went howling and bursting over our heads, filling the air with iron hail and sulphur." Some of the shots landed among the Pennsylvania Reserves and kicked up spigots of mud "higher than the tallest tree," while others bounced through the ranks like grotesque rubber balls."

No rumour of the foe's advance
Now swells upon the wind;
No troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind.
No vision of the morrow's strife
The warrior's dream alarms;
No braying horn, nor screaming fife,
At dawn shall call to arms.