John D. Billings, The history of the Tenth Massachusetts battery of light artillery in the war of the rebellion

[171] and ‘swing’ horses of its caisson added to its own strength to surmount the steep, and, having done this, four of the piece horses returned with those of the caisson to help the latter up. All this consumed time, and a great deal of it, and it was high noon when the Battery had been thus transferred to plane terra firma once more. But then our advance was promptly resumed along the Stevensburg Plank Road, into the enemy's country, pursuing this course perhaps four miles. Cannonading heard in the distance announced to us that the enemy had been found, and turning into the woods on our right, in the direction of the firing, we rapidly drew nearer the scene of battle, advancing at a trot as the sounds of strife became more distinct. We are to be hurried without delay into battle. What an array of sensations crowd themselves upon us as we rush along! The unknown result, the dread possibilities, nay, even probabilities, the quick thoughts of home and loved ones, the conscious shrinking from impending danger, and the antagonizing something within, which yet impels us sternly onward,—all these raise a tumult in the mind which every soldier will remember. What is it that thus spurs us on, our breasts bared to the enemy, while all the flesh cries out against it? Is it courage? Is it the fear of being branded as cowards? Is it mad indifference to consequences? Are we buoyed up to the requirements of the situation by the touch of the elbow to the right and left, of those who are hurrying on with us alike ignorant of consequences? Ah, it is something higher and more powerful than all these. It is not courage. No man of sane mind ever faced a hostile line of battle without flinching. There is no manliness in such an act. It is not fear of the stigma of cowardice, for the circumstances of the