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musket.
Pretty soon after, the command ‘fall in’ was given, and
Col. Jones, riding quickly forward, told his men that he was about to lead them into action, and that he expected every man to do his duty, and win for himself and his regiment a name.
The 6th Alabama under
Colonel (subsequently
Lieutenant General)
Gordon marched by us with orders to deploy as skirmishers, and the 12th Alabama, filed in next.
Many hundreds of hearts in that command which beat high with hope, and exulted in the prospect of meeting the despised foe, before sunset were stilled in death.
On we moved, over fences, through mud and water waist deep and almost impenetrable under growth, across fields and ditches and fallen trees, listening to the oft repeated command ‘forward!
close up!
keep together!’
and forward we went rapidly, and with yells, facing minie balls, grape and shells, reckless of danger.
The 12th Alabama crossed the abatis and breastworks within twenty feet of the 12 captured
Napoleon guns of the enemy.
Twenty-eight dead horses and scores of lifeless and disabled Yankees were in our pathway.
We moved through the camp of
Gen. Casey, near his headquarters, and drove the enemy to a second abatis and a line of heavier earthworks.
Just as we reached the abatis the command ‘halt,’ ‘fire and load kneeling!’
were given, and scarcely had the order been repeated along the line, when
Capt. Keeling fell, but the field was won, and his name, with thousands of his brave comrades, is worthy to live in the hearts of his countrymen forever.
It is proper to state that the above tribute to my friend, much extended, was written by me in 1867, and published in the Tuskegee News, edited then by my old comrade, A. F. Henderson.
In returning through the camp of the enemy I was handed from General Casey's tent a copy of ‘Casey's Tactics,’ written by himself, with his autograph in it, and I have preserved the book to this day. The men supplied themselves with many articles found in these tents, but with the exception of the desiccated food and articles of clothing, they could make little use of the trophies secured.
Private John U. Ingram of my company was killed, a gentle, manly youth, 18 years old.
It would be wrong not to mention the capital city of Richmond and her patriotic people in connection with the battle of Seven Pines.
Every house in the city, whether stately or humble, was open for the Confederate wounded.
The floors of the parlors, halls
