1863: “Bullets Plowed Little Furrows”

The comfort of warming chilled fingers and toes and drinking a grateful cup of hot coffee outweighed for the moment any consideration of danger…. As all was so quiet, not a shot having been fired, I…walked out until the enemy’s breastworks were in view and there, sure enough,…a succession of long lines of Gray were swarming over the Confederate breastworks and sweeping towards us but not yet within gun shot range.  Continue reading